


Outlier

by CallMeIronWoobie



Series: The Odds [1]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Behind the Scenes, Bromance, Canon Compliant, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Epic Bromance, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentor/Sidekick, Mystery, Pre-Relationship, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Secrets, Superheroes, Suspense, Team, Team Dynamics, Torture, Wally Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 140,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeIronWoobie/pseuds/CallMeIronWoobie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teachers. The Team. The Rogues. Loved ones. Injuries. Speed. Secret identity. Between all the balls Wally juggled, it was remarkable that he'd even made it this far... They say that speedsters have ridiculous good luck, until they don't. By now, Wally West is an outlier, a fluke, and his good luck has reached its limit. So naturally, karma likes to strike back with a vengeance. Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Outlier

**Author's Note:**

> You know Wally West as Kid Flash, partner to the Flash and a hero of Central City. Yet Wally's day-to-day life is very different from his time in the Cave with the Team, and an awkward, ginger, perpetually-hungry, scientific genius who works sleepless nights as a speeding hero is bound to stand out in the student body.
> 
> The school faculty, of course, notices this, and as Wally struggles more and more to balance his hero gig and his school life, his secret may just come out...

**PART ONE.**

_**secret (adj./noun):**_ kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or privileged; a mystery.

* * *

   **1**  

**OUTLIER**

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 16:42 CST**

Another C.

After a beat of hesitation, nimble fingers entered the grade into the online gradebook before rubbing the frustrated face of one chemistry teacher, Tish Hasbrouck. A long sigh drew from her lips, the spreadsheet of results on the screen in front of her dragging up those clichéd questions of, _Are the students confused, misinformed, or just thick? Or is it me? Is it my fault? Am I a bad teacher?_

_Am I even meant for this career?_

Granted, acid-base equilibrium and proton concentration had proven to be a tough unit every year for the past nine years Tish had been teaching. Few students nailed the concepts on the first try, let alone did well on the exam.

She mapped a bell curve – the swooping, arching line across the spectrum of grades and data points that represented the class as a whole. She could curve the grades up a bit. It’s what any… _fair_ teacher would do.

(Although that word was on Tish’s list of pet peeves, a word thrown around the teacher lounge all too easily during breaks.)

Of course, the bell curve encapsulated the full spectrum of the students – both good and bad. Three or four kids, true to form, made up the caboose of the education train, clearly slacking on the necessary homework and practice to successfully pull off the demands of the test. Then there was Josh Nogra, who unsurprisingly neglected to even show up for the test – or any of the makeup sessions.

This was Tish’s third year teaching the student, and judging by the trends of his performance and effort? She anticipated a fourth.

But then, at the opposite end of the spectrum, there was the outlier.

The uppermost tip of the bell curve.

Wallace Rudolph West.

Tish pulled up Wally’s full progress report to fill the screen of her monitor and simply stared at the numbers for a full minute, shaking her head. _You’d think he was cheating._ But no, teachers had been monitoring Wally for any academic dishonesty since the fourth grade.

He was clean.

How could it be that Wally was the only student to earn perfect marks on her tests, including the near-impossible bonus questions? Every. Single. Time. This. Year. How was it possible?

Simple. He was good.

Very good.

The kid was tardy almost every day. He always had to “go to the bathroom” in the middle of class, and he fell asleep mid-lecture at least twice a week. Perhaps he spent all night studying, which would explain those perpetual bags under his eyes… But if that were the case, Wally would at least take notes to study from, which he never did. He’d never even checked out a textbook at the start of the year, according to the librarians, so Tish couldn’t fathom the boy studying anything. Not without materials.

Of course, any teacher worth their salt knew how to deal with “talented and gifted” students, young teens so far advanced in the coursework that they felt they didn’t need to pay attention in class. There were methods of working with these students, upper-college level supplementary work to challenge them.

But Wally was, again, an outlier. Ignoring the fact that he was a sophomore in a senior-level advanced chemistry course, no matter how difficult or high-level the material was, he slept through what Tish taught until exam time, and then aced the tests to prove he knew his stuff.

He was never exactly _cocky_ , simply matter-of-fact and… correct.

The only explanation, however improbable it seemed, was that Wally had already learned all of the material before. That he possessed an advanced, college-level understanding of chemistry before setting foot in a single course.

He was aggravating. And more importantly, he was screwing up her bell curve.

So, just as with every test she had passed out this year, Tish painstakingly typed in the student’s perfect test score, then manually deleted his grade from the class bell curve, normalizing the class to the mean and median. _There we go._

She couldn’t have one freak-of-nature, scientific genius, child prodigy ruining her remedy for the other students’ GPAs. That would be… un _fair_.

Tish closed her computer for the night with a note of finality, gathering the tests into a file to be handed back the next day. Bundling up in her coat and gloves, the science instructor frowned at the thought of the outlier in her classroom, and ultimately decided that Wally would turn out to be the next Einstein.

And all of the grief he’d caused her would be worth it when he one day attributed his Nobel Prize to her hard work and patience.

After all, outliers were destined for greatness.


	2. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally stands out to the track coach.
> 
> ... Which may not be a good thing for a speedster in civvies.

**2**

**RESTRAINT**

**CENTRAL CITY**  
**November 17, 13:16 CST**

“All right, you wusses! Line up and get stretching. Move it, let’s go!”

The towering form of Coach Gabe Matthews cast a hulking silhouette at the door to the boys’ locker room, light from the hallway framing his figure to give the halo of an angel of death. Hard, dark eyes peered out from beneath thick eyebrows, veiny arms crossed over a black and white T-shirt that stereotypically read ' _Feel the Burn'_.

This was a man you didn’t want to keep waiting. A series of quiet groans echoed in the tiled locker room as forty-six high school boys slammed the doors on their lockers and jogged out to the track loop.

Gabe counted roll as the teens passed by, frowning disapprovingly at that one kid, the scrawny redhead with the unspeakably big stomach. Slow to the starting line, as per usual. Typical West.

The nerd, the wise-guy in every other class but a slacker when it came to physical activity. The kid who didn’t seem to take Gabe’s gym class seriously – probably since it didn’t count towards his weighted GPA.

West was going to sweat today. Gabe would make sure of it, do the runt a favor and make him work those weak little calves.

“Listen close, ladies.” Coach Matthews paced back and forth before the hoard across the starting line. “Mile run today. How long is a mile, West?” he called out to the kid who was currently crouching behind a couple of larger dudes in an attempt to hide from the coach’s gaze.

No such luck. None escaped the patented Gabriel Glare™.

The ginger stuttered, “Five – five thousand two hundred and eighty feet, sir.”

Gabe scoffed, “Sure, whatever. Now, for the rest of you who aren’t eggheads, I’m gonna make this real simple.” He gestured to the track loop over his shoulder with one meaty thumb. “You suckers need to scoot your butts around this track four times. Let me repeat that, because I know some of you _aren’t listening_. You cross this line here,” he kicked the line on the ground for emphasis, “four times. _Four_. No more, no less. If you cheat, you pay. If you goof off, you pay. If you miraculously happen to ‘pull a muscle’ halfway through and want to sit out the rest of your mile, no dice. You pay. I’m talking to you, West.” Gabe glared over the top of his shades at West, who ducked his head to hide his blush.

The wiener.

“All right, pansies. On your mark. Get set…” And he blew his whistle with a flourish, signaling the start of the run. The boys took off, naturally coalescing into groups of similar running ability. The track and field stars up front broke away fast, as expected, with the football, basketball, and soccer players close behind. A few slowpokes brought up the rear, which was normal. Not everyone was built for speed, even Coach Matthews could accept that.

But  _West’s_ pace… was just ridiculous.

It was like he was trying to jog as slow as physically possible. And his form was atrocious.

Huffing and rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, Gabe trotted up to Wally’s side within seconds and walked threateningly alongside the ginger. “West, I swear, if you post anything more than a twenty-minute mile, you’re gonna do burpees after school until five o’clock tonight.” That seemed to get West’s attention, judging by the pallor that crept across his face.

“Yeah. That’s right. Call it my special brand of detention. Just because I don’t teach bookwork doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. No human being your age and build is this slow, not without a medical excuse.” A growl crept into Gabe’s voice as he emphasized, “If you take me for a fool and think you can mock me and my class on my time, you will face consequences. Now pick up the pace, or get ready to schedule time in the nurse’s office tomorrow because of the workout I’m going to have to give you after school for the rest of the week. You catch my drift?”

West quickly nodded, sweat already dripping from his hair. “Yes. Yes, sir.”

Coach Matthews turned away, muttering to the ginger, “Don’t disappoint me.”

He returned to the starting line just as the first group of guys finished their first lap. Gabe reclined in his chair by the track, punching his stopwatch as they passed and scribbling in their times on his clipboard. “You’re dragging, Anderson. Get a move on!”

But not even two minutes in, Gabe's day took a turn for the bizarre.

Scrawny, slowpoke West blew by the starting line, barely breaking a sweat. _What. The._ He stood up in his chair, abruptly yanking his shades off his face to get a better look. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

West was _booking_. He’d already rounded the turn within seconds, and before long, he’d caught up to the star running back.

_How was this possible?_

Gabe followed West with scrutiny to make sure he wasn’t cutting corners. Nope. The kid was just… running, effortlessly, with absolutely _flawless_ form, his shock of red hair whipping back in the breeze. The change was so drastic that the footballers were slowing down, put off by West blowing them away with such ease.

If Gabe had known that the ginger nerd had _speed_ … heck, he’d have recruited him for track three months ago. Why had the kid been holding this back all this time? West was already in the middle of his fourth and final lap and not showing any hints of fatigue or exhaustion. It was…

It was simply a miracle, Gabe decided – a blessing from heaven, gifting his track program with a new star. They had the state championship in the bag. Central City High’s coach could finally suck it.

West rounded the last turn of the last lap and prepared to speed home to the finish line. Gabe pulled out his pen and prepared to make a note on his clipboard. The runt nerd was about to beat all the suckers in the sophomore class, set the school record, and the gym coach wanted to capture this moment.

A mere thirty feet away. Twenty-five. Twenty.

In the homestretch and not even panting. Incredible.

And then, suddenly, the redhead skidded to a stop.

Gabe dropped his clipboard and his pen into the grass by the side of the track. Why the fresh bananas was West just… _standing_ there, staring at him? Why did he look so horrified? He was doing great! Why didn’t he just take those last few steps and cross the line, ensuring his spot on the track team and eternal glory?

As the minutes ticked by and the other students finished their mile, Gabe could only gape incredulously at West, who refused to finish. The kid wasn’t doubled over out of breath, wasn’t tossing his cookies, wasn’t texting as the youth were so prone to do these days.

 _“What on earth are you waiting for?!”_ he bellowed at the boy, who didn’t react save for his eyes widening into a perfect impression of a deer-in-headlights. “You hurt? Having a stroke or something?”

West only shook his head, and… wait…

_No._

Was the moron actually walking _backwards_? Gabe watched, at a loss for words, as the kid retraced his steps back up to the curve again, muttering something under his breath as he studied his feet with too much interest to be healthy. More minutes passed until West was officially the only guy still left on the track. Gabe had no idea what this nut-job was doing and was practically pulling his hair out.

And then, at the ten-minute mark, West began _walking_ , ever so slowly, towards the finish line. He paced each tiny step deliberately, heel to toe, heel to toe.

 _He was taunting him._ That had to be it.

West crossed the finish line at a painful twelve minutes and fifty-five seconds, and then trotted off back to the locker room, avoiding Gabe’s gaze.

Coach Matthews placed his hands on his knees and groaned, closing his eyes as he puzzled over that display. _I’m getting too old for this._

* * *

In the showers, Wally tried to avoid the stares of the other guys as he washed up. On the outside, he maintained his calm, unflappable, practically aloof persona that he wore on gym days to hide his hatred for the class.

But on the inside, he was kicking himself. He'd nearly lost control. Nearly blew his entire cover.

_… Still might._

The second Coach Matthews had threatened to keep Wally after school, he just panicked. He couldn’t afford to get a detention, couldn’t take the chance that would risk his place on the Team. If his dad heard he got a detention, because of _gym_ of all things… Wally shuddered as he shut off the faucet and started to dry off.

His entire life was wrapped up in the Team. It was the only thing he looked for to on any given day, along with hanging out with Dick or running patrol with Uncle Barry. If he was held up by freaking _disciplinary issues_ , he would lose that.

That could _not_ happen.

But that said, Wally knew he’d definitely overreacted just now. He’d lost his grip on time, forgot to measure his pace against his watch and the pace of the other guys on the track. At least he’d known not to run through the sound barrier, but in his anxiety, he hadn't regulated very well below that. By the time he came close to finishing his last lap, Wally finally noticed – perhaps too late – that the rest of the guys were trailing him by hundreds of feet and at least a minute.

 _Too fast. Way too fast,_ he'd realized with a cold chill down his spine.

Too fast. Especially for scrawny, pathetic, unathletic, _slow_ Wally West.

He’d skidded to a stop, dust flying up around him. At least he didn’t cross the line yet, but the coach was starting at him, mouth dropping like a cartoon. He saw.

He _saw_.

Heck, everyone in class saw.

Wally had stalled out then, his mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour. No matter what, he couldn’t cross that line yet. He had to stall until his mile time was more believable to fit his cover story.

But now he had to _come up_ with that cover story.

What excuse would explain his sudden burst of speed?

Steroids? No, that wouldn’t make any sense – he didn’t look like he even worked out regularly, let alone used enhancers. Plus, he didn’t want to get _expelled_ for drug abuse. That would definitely get him kicked off the Team, and worse.

As Wally yanked his shirt on over his head, he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, the red strands naturally sticking up in his trademark spiky style.

He would play the fear card. Yeah. Wally had just… been so darn _scared_ of detention that he got a swell of adrenaline that took over. He couldn’t run like that normally. _Psh_ , he could barely sprint fifty meters, let alone a mile. Impossible. Positively preposterous.

… It was a huge stretch, but it’d have to do, because at least it was a partial truth.

And Wally West knew that he sucked at lying.

His stomach growled loudly, drawing even more wondering glances from his peers in the locker room. He ducked his head into his sweater, attempting to look as meek and weak as he could. He didn’t need this attention. He was in his _civvies_ , for crying out loud! At least no one had legitimate proof to give to the press, but still.

Leaning against his locker, Wally grabbed his stomach and grimaced. Yet another reason why he despised gym, besides the risk and temptation to blow his secret identity. Performing any unnecessary physical activity took its toll on his metabolism, and running even a little bit burned hundreds – thousands – of calories. Even if it wasn’t a thirtieth of his average speed. Looks like he’d have to overload on lunch again today to compensate.

 _Fan-freakin’-tastic._ Miss Marcie was just going to love that.

“West!”

Coach Matthews barked into the locker room again, causing Wally to jerk his head up. “My office. Now.”

Wally gulped and slung his backpack over his shoulder, trudging out of the locker room in a slump to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.

* * *

“Well, West. What do you have to say for yourself?” the coach grunted, arms taut as they crossed over his chest expectantly. This was not good. Not good, not good. _Nope_.

“Um… sorry?” Wally squeaked.

“Sorry? For what? For hiding your talent from the athletics department? Or for mocking me by refusing to finish your school-record-breaking time? _Sorry for what?_ ” Coach Matthews looked livid, his face turning nearly as red as the Flash’s suit.

“Sorry – sorry, sir. I didn't – I didn’t mean to mock you.” Much as Wally hated sounding like a wimp, groveling with some finesse made himself less of a target by students and faculty, like, 99% of the time.

“Then what happened? Why’d you stop?”

“I guess... I guess I got scared, sir.” Wally rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

“Scared? Of what?!” The coach's expression contorted into a mix of annoyance and bewilderment. “You were about to post a five-minute mile, and that’s including all time you wasted before and after you decided to take this seriously. Sure, it’s not the best on the planet, but with a little endurance training and conditioning, you could be a contender! What gives?”

 _Stay with it._ “I got scared, sir. I don't – I don't want detention. Please, sir, I… I freaked. I don’t think I can run even half that fast.”

“Let me get this straight..." Fuming, the coach leaned in close to Wally’s face, and Wally could almost imagine steam billowing from the hulking man’s ears. "... You're calling a sub-five-minute mile an _adrenaline rush?_  You really take me for a fool?!”

Wally ducked his head, eyes downcast. He wished he could be anywhere else but here. “No – no, sir. But… it’s the truth.”

_Or as much of the truth as you have clearance to know._

After a beat, Coach Matthews sighed and stood back up to his full height. “I just… I don’t get you, West. Any other kid who could make my best ball players look like snails would be pumped to get a place on varsity. Especially a puny freak like you.” The coach’s eyes narrowed. “So what you’re saying is… you _can’t_ run like that all the time?”

“No, sir,” Wally said emphatically, shaking his head.  _Will he buy it?_

The two of them were tiptoeing around an incredibly dangerous line, and the coach didn’t even know it. A redhead with crazy speed on a high school track team in Central City? The _same city_ where the redheaded Kid Flash fought crime at high speed? Geez. Talk about dead giveaways.

The coach exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose, giving up. “You’re weird, kid.” He waved him away, turning towards his desk. “Get out of my face.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wally sighed in relief. He left the coach’s office, leaned against the wall in the empty hallway, and slid to the ground, rubbing his face with a shaking freckled hand.

That was way too close. If he pulled a stunt like that again, Wally could kiss his secret ID – and his spot on the Team and at Uncle Barry’s side – goodbye.

The bell rang, and despite what one might expect, Wally frowned. Time for lunch.

 _Yippee_.


	3. Sustain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think lunch would be a speedster's favorite time of day. But when your stomach takes up over a third of the cafeteria's food budget, well… People start to notice.

**3**

**SUSTAIN**

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 14:07 CST**

Keystone High School was a fairly large institution. Located in the heart of Central City, the school educated nearly three thousand students each year. Because of the sheer number of hungry teenagers at noontime, the lunch period was split into four sections: the 12:15, the 12:50, the 1:25, and the 2:00 groups.

Naturally, Wally was assigned to the two o'clock group, and it was always right after gym class. And since there was a dumb "no food in the classroom or hallways" policy, Wally was stuck waiting until practically six or seven hours past breakfast to eat anything.

Inevitably, his stomach was killing him by lunchtime.

So anyone who knew who he was would have hardly blamed him if he went back for sevenths and eights every day. Unfortunately, he was in his civvies, and boring, tiny Wallace Rudolph West couldn't possibly digest that much food. He had to limit himself a bit.

But on days like today, when Wally inadvertently burned too many calories through physical activity, his metabolism was practically eating him alive. He needed food, he needed a lot of it, and he needed it  _fast_. So he didn't even bother dropping off his backpack at a table before getting in line with the rest of the nearly three hundred students who bought lunch each day, and grabbed a tray, subconsciously reminding himself that no, the tray was not edible.

Sad what hunger can do to a guy.

Slowly, torturously, the line ebbed along. Wally hoped to the bottom of his heart that today's menu would at least taste somewhat good. He shuddered at the thought of the slimy "ground-beef casserole" slop-concoction that the kitchen dared to serve the students sometimes. Those days were the worst, forcing Wally to go back for multiple servings of vomit-inducing crap. It was a cruel and unusual punishment.

Running on fumes, he made it to the food station. _Yes! Rolls!_ He grabbed two and dropped them on his plate. Nothing was more harmless than a simple bread roll. And… salad! Not exactly high in calories, but still healthy and filling with enough croutons on top.

So, rolls and salad…That must mean that today's menu was… Italian.  _Score!_ Wally grinned wide at the smell of marinara sauce and hot cheese wafting towards his nose. Italian food was one of the best options for a starving speedster. High in carbs, high calories, super filling. Wally bent his head forward to get a glimpse of what was up for grabs. _Pizza, pasta, calzones…_

He drooled a little.

Grabbing four slices of sausage pizza, three scoops of spaghetti and meatballs, and a couple of calzones, Wally loaded up his tray sky-high. He resisted digging in right then and there.

Finally, dessert.  _Oh, mama, was that chocolate cake?_  Rich, dark, moist, triple-layer chocolate cake with whipped-fudge icing, practically singing his name. He automatically reached for a slice when a kid behind him coughed. Wally turned in confusion.

"Dude," the guy snickered, "are you seriously gonna eat all that? Save some for the rest of us, man!"

Mouth quirking to the side, Wally looked down at his tray. Maybe it looked like a lot to everyone else, but this was maybe a twentieth of what Wally needed each day. He's still need to go back for more, anyways. Wally shrugged and reached for the cake again.

The guy behind him scoffed and muttered, "Where the hell do you put it all, anyways? Glutton."

Wally ignored him, continuing down the line and snagging a bottle of water and a couple of oranges before he arrived at checkout. Oh, wonderful. Miss Marcie was on cashier duty today. The woman had hated Wally ever since the infamous Sandwich Shortage of 2009.

(Hey, it wasn't his fault that he and the Flash had to chase Zoom around the world  _twice_  before they nabbed him that morning! He'd been trying to make up for missing both dinner and breakfast and burning close to fifty-six thousand calories the night before! But Miss Marcie, of course, couldn't know any o' that.)

"Oh, it's you," Miss Marcie sneered. "Planning to eat us out of house and home, huh, Mr. West?"

Wally said nothing. He had learned from experience that trying to reason with, backtalk, or even appease Miss Marcie led to detention every time. He just patiently waited for her to ring up his load of food and cut him loose.

She sighed at the total. $35.60. And this was only for the first round.

Wally handed her the card he kept in his back pocket. It was a card given to him by the Justice League when he first got his powers years ago. Flash had one connected to the same account. The famous billionaire Bruce Wayne – _coughcoughBatmancoughcough_ – was always willing to be a generous benefactor to the speedsters, who just weren't able to support the food costs to sustain their metabolisms on their own. Wally valued that card as much as he valued his life.

She swiped the card and handed it back to him with a scowl. "One day, West," she growled, "I swear. That card of yours is gonna go dry, and you'll find yourself out of luck, buddy."

Wally paled at the thought. The card was his lifeline. If he ever lost it or the funds ran out, and if he had gone on patrol or a mission in the prior twelve hours, then he could say "bye-bye, lunch".

That couldn't happen. He'd end up hospitalized before the final bell rang.

Finally, Wally turned away from the lunch line, his tray gripped tightly in his hands, and went to look for a place to sit down. Unsurprisingly, he knew his options were limited. It was an understatement to say that Wally wasn't very popular. Being a superhero with little outside free time will do that to you.

He'd kissed his social life goodbye three years ago.

He at last found a spot at a vacant table where he plopped his backpack down on a chair and started to dig in. Food always managed to cheer him up, and the more he ate, the better he felt. Wally resisted the urge to speed his way through his meal so he could go back for more as soon as possible. He got enough stares and whispering looks as it is; he didn't need any more attention.

Before long, though, Wally had polished off the contents of his tray. But his stomach, as expected, called for more. So he stood to his feet, just as he had done day after day for the past few years, and got back in line for an extreme second round.

Two minutes later, he was standing in front of Miss Marcie with a tray stacked equally as high as before. Rolling her eyes, she rang him up again, and was that the hint of an evil eye she flashed at him before he left? Wally shrugged and dug into his food again, attempting to ignore the glances of disgust from the other kids in the vicinity.

It was different in the Cave with the Team, or when he was hanging out with Dick on the weekends. If he ate a ton, if he ate messily, sure the others would tease him, make fun, call him "Kid Stomach". But it was fine, because he didn't mind the ribbing from them. They understood how he functioned, and when it all came down to it, Wally knew he would give his life for the Team, and so would they for him.

His classmates were another story, though.

It wasn't long until Wally needed to go back for thirds. It really was ridiculous. Wally hadn't even run that fast in gym, yet his body burned up all of his reserves in minutes.

"One more time, West? Seriously." Judging by the dark scowl on her face, Miss Marcie wasn't pleased. In fact, she grabbed Wally by the wrist and pulled him around the counter to the back room. The other lunch ladies were all gathered there, each with varying expressions of discontent. A few were puffing on cigarettes, and one took a swig from a bottle of beer. Not your typical wholesome bunch.

Wally gulped at the look of pure loathing Ms. Vera gave him as she snapped, "You, sir. You realize what you've done?"

"Umm…" Wally fidgeted. This was not a good place to be.

Miss Marcie stalked over to the refrigerator door and ripped down a piece of paper that had been taped onto the sheer metal surface. She spun around and waved it in Wally's face. He took a step back in alarm. What was going on?

"You see this, son?" She jabbed accusingly at the paper, pointing at a large section on a pie graph. "According to last month's statistics, you consumed over _thirty-five percent_ of the school's cafeteria budget. Do you know what that means? You managed to eat the equivalent of the entire football, basketball,  _and_  soccer teams combined over the course of thirty days. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Wally felt his face heating up. This was not happening. He knew he ate a lot, but he figured in a school this large, no one would be keeping track on the individual level.

This. Was. Bad.

Ms. Vera stood from her seat on a countertop. "You know, West, it'd be different if you at least played a sport or something. At least then you would have a small, justified reason for eating so darn much. But no," she scowled, "you're thin as a twig. You probably haven't picked up a ball in years. I mean, look at you!"

He glanced down at himself. True, he was skinny. He knew that. Speedsters were physically incapable of gaining too much weight before they burned it up. They were pure bone and muscle, but always lean muscle. Wally knew he wasn't bulky no matter how you slice it. Fighting on the team alongside physical giants like Roy and Kaldur – not to mention, _Conner –_  reminded him every day of how he measured up. It was a fact of life.

Hell, even  _Dick_ would probably dwarf him if he got his big growth spurt before Wally did.

But hey. The way Wally saw it, being skinny was a lot better than being, you know, _dead_ from starvation.

He looked at the pie chart in Miss Marcie's hand and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "I'm… sorry?" What was he supposed to say or do in an awkward situation like this?

Ms. Rita, who hadn't said anything yet, took another puff from the cigarette in her fingers. "Yeah, well, 'sorry' ain't gonna pay the bills, kid."

Wally frowned. "I do pay for the food, though."

Ms. Rita narrowed her eyes. "Sure, you pay the  _school_  back, but do we see a cent for the hours of extra overtime we work in food prep to make sure you snot-nosed kids don't sue us? Nope. Nada."

Wally bit his lip and tried to object, "But that sounds like a payroll problem–"

"Doesn't change the fact that you're the symptom." Taking another sip from the bottle of the Budweiser in her grasp, Ms. Vera sighed. "It's a pain feeding ya, West. Remember that. You," she glared at Wally out of the corner of her eye, "are a royal pain in our collective—"

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Wally relished the sound of his salvation. He backed up to the exit, waving apologetically. "Really, I'm sorry for all the trouble, ladies. Hope it works out, um... see ya tomorrow!" Wally got back to the rapidly emptying cafeteria and swung his backpack over his shoulders before realizing that he never did get to go back for thirds. His stomach protested loudly and he flopped his head back and groaned, then started heading for his next class.

Today was so not his day.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 14:33 CST**

Marcie turned and frowned at the other women in the workroom, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That punk is something else," she huffed.

Rita took a long drag from her joint. "The things the school board makes us put up with. You really gotta wonder where the runt puts it all."

Nodding in agreement, Vera chugged the rest of her beer and dropped it into the recycling bin. "Remember the first day of school last year when we all thought West was wasting the food, dumping it into the trash? Oh, how we were ready to tan his hide!"

Marcie took another look at the stats sent to her from the accounting office. "This is a serious problem, though. I don't know about you ladies, but I'm not going to keep working long hours on no extra pay to keep shoving our hard-earned labor down one boy's throat. He's probably throwing it all up or something later, anyways. It's a waste."

"Hear hear," Rita concurred, waving her joint in the air and sending trails of smoke swirling in the dim lighting. "Bring it up at the faculty meeting, girl. Give the board a piece of our minds." Vera walked out to the cafeteria where the troublesome ginger was exiting out to the hallway.

She turned to look at her coworkers with a grim, determined expression. "If the school doesn't get a handle on Wallace Rudolph West, the cafeteria staff will go on strike."


	4. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally finds himself running late. Since speeding home isn't an option, there's only one thing left to do: ride the bus.
> 
> There's nothing like a claustrophobic speedster trapped in slow, cramped, yellow tube of death to top off a rough day at school.

**4**

**BREATHE**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 17, 15:13 CST**

Of all the classes Wally had to take, Social Studies was without a doubt the worst. Not because he had to learn about a bunch of dead people who did a bunch of boring stuff ages ago, or because there were too many pointless dates and battles to memorize in a week, but because of the mandatory current events discussion every day.

What's wrong with current events, you ask? Nothing, for the most part. Wally was sure that in any other Missouri town, going over current events would be a harmless, even enjoyable, activity.

But Keystone High School was located smack-dab in the middle of Central City, five blocks away from the Flash Museum and two blocks down from the local news station. If there was any place in the entire city that got the latest updates on the resident hero and his sidekick, it was Wally's school.

So naturally, current events automatically steered towards that topic every. Single. Day. It was encouraging at first, getting to hear from his classmates and his teachers what they thought about the work he did in his off time. It was even entertaining, knowing that he was secretly a major celebrity among his peers.

And wouldn't you know it, a few good things even came out of it, like the Flash Food Initiative that Keystone High started up last year. Students made a public awareness campaign, encouraging families around the city to sign up on a special website to set out a small meal or a snack in front of their houses for the speedsters who might be passing by on patrol each day. It was a touching gift, and Wally's stomach was eternally grateful for the city's kindness.

However, current events time wasn't always rainbows and roses. Students were encouraged to bring up conflicting viewpoints. And while most people in America saw superheroes as saviors and dedicated defenders of the population these days, some felt distrust towards them, especially the "metahumans". When it came to the Flashes, for instance, some people adored the scarlet speedster and his canary companion, while others were overly cautious and constantly question whether their loyalty – and the tremendous power that came with it – was really in the public's favor.

Today, the students were in a heated debate about the implications behind some National Metahuman Registration Act that G. Gordon Godfrey had apparently proposed on his show the night before. (Wally didn't watch the show last night, partly because he was a little preoccupied fighting Deathstroke and Sportsmaster at the time, and partly because he could never stomach that man's relentless bashing of the Justice League.)

"But think of the benefits!" Raymond Martinez objected. "If we knew exactly where and who all the metas in the nation were, we wouldn't be caught by surprise when a new supervillain cropped up. We'd already know their powers ahead of time, and we could take them down easily."

"That's dumb," retorted Mai Li hotly. "Not everyone would willingly register in the first place, so the system would be pointless. Second, while we may know the villains' weaknesses, you're forgetting that the villains would know the heroes' weaknesses as well! Superman already gets enough flack from his enemies because they know about his susceptibility to Kryptonite. The country – the world, even – would be plunged into a super-powered war!"

"Wally," Mr. Cudjo called out. "What's your take?"

The class turned in their seats to look with curiosity at Wally, who slunk lower in his seat.

He generally tried to stay out of these kinds of conversations. He had his opinions, of course, but if people saw that he actively supported heroes, and if they saw his red hair and pieced together all the other things that made him a bit…  _odd_ , they'd figure it out. He couldn't have that, so he was pretty much forced to either support anti-hero sentiments or stay entirely neutral, much to his chagrin.

On this subject, he was completely and totally against the NMRA. Duh. For one, it would blow his cover and the secret identities of the entire Justice League. Not to mention that some of the Team members, like Conner, weren't very public heroes in the first place, unlike him and Dick. The Act would take the "covert" out of "covert ops", and the Team would most likely be disbanded.

But Wally shrugged and nonchalantly commented, "I'm all for it."

The final bell rang, signaling freedom and deliverance from this oppressive prison of a high school. Wally jumped to his feet and bolted out the door of the classroom.

Only to trip  _spectacularly_  over Josh Nogra's outstretched foot.

Wally was sent sprawling into the hallway, his backpack flying off, books and papers fluttering everywhere. Wally banged his head into the lockers on the opposite wall with a wince-inducing CLANG. He clutched his head, spinning around to see Nogra snickering and waving to Wally. "Have a nice day, klutz."

Immediately, the hallway was swarmed with thousands of stampeding teenagers. Wally shrank back against the wall, trying to avoid getting trampled. He saw his Calculus textbook get kicked on accident by a student's foot and winced.

"You've got to be kidding me," Wally mumbled under his breath. And thus, his day continued to spiral downwards.

A couple minutes later, the hallway cleared up enough for Wally to gather his belongings and stuff them back into his backpack. He finally trudged out of school and took a big breath of fresh, cold air. Today had been a series of near-disasters, but at least he could look forward to getting home and becoming Kid Flash again. He always felt naked in civvies, anyways.

As he started his thirty-minute walk home, Wally reached in the outer pocket of his backpack to retrieve his goggles. They were like a comfort item, practically like his good luck charm, an ever-present reminder that no matter how stupid life at school seemed, there was an entire superhero community waiting for him later.

But he couldn't find them.

Wally froze, and ripped open his bag wide, searching frantically for the red goggles that the speedster treasured as much as his right hand. (Maybe more - hell, speedsters valued their  _feet_  and  _legs_  more than their hands.) He upended his backpack, sending his supplies, notebooks, and textbooks falling to the ground once more. Nothing.

"No. No,  _no_. No no no no no no no!" Wally repeatedly smacked his face with his hand, groaning. This… this can't be happening. They must have fallen out in the hallway when Nogra tripped him. "Sir Isaac Newton," he cursed, gathering his stuff for a second time and turning around to walk back to school.

Those goggles meant everything to him. He had to get them back.

Wally reentered the doors of Keystone High and beelined straight for the hallway where he tripped. He walked along past the empty classrooms, hurriedly scanning the ground for his goggles. Where were they?

"Looking for these, West?"

Oh, no.

Not that voice.  _Anyone_  but him.

Wally looked up to see Coach Matthews,  _Coach Matthews_  of all people, standing at the end of the hall, holding up his red goggles in his hand. Coach did not look happy at all.

Crap. Double crap. Crap to the infinity. Wally was tempted to say that no, those goggles weren't his at all. But Coach seemed to already know the truth, and Wally needed them if he wanted to go crime-fighting later. It took at least two days' notice in advance to replace them; they were built especially for him at S.T.A.R. Labs.

Coach Matthews took a menacing step towards Wally. "Well, West? What the hell would you need these for?"

"Um... Swimming," Wally lied. Badly. "I like swimming, sir." _Pitiful._  The coach saw through it easily.

"It's November, West. And I'm not stupid. These goggles are for runners. But, oh right! Last I heard, you're too scared to run fast, huh?" Coach's eyes narrowed. "Well? Got another excuse?"

Perfect.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 15:57 CST**

By the time Wally managed to escape that horrible situation, secret identity _miraculously_ still in tact, school had been out for nearly half an hour. He was running late. Really late. If he didn't get home soon, his dad would flay him alive.

The rules that the West and Allen families had set for Wally's freedom as a speeding hero were many and extensive, but one of the most important points was that Wally was to be home as soon as possible and complete all of his homework and studying before he was allowed to don the cowl for the late afternoon and evening. Then, and only then, was he free to spend his time beating down bad guys to his heart's content.

A pretty sweet deal, in Wally's opinion, especially since he could whip through all of his homework in less than ten minutes if he hurried. But all that was moot if he wasn't home on time.

Standing in front of the school, Wally shuffled his feet in thought. His toes in his sneakers curled and flexed, itching to burst into a sound-barrier-breaking sprint. Wally could be home in less than twelve seconds if he ran. And it was  _so_   _tempting_ , especially after such a crummy day. Surely no one would see him if he moved fast enough, right?

But with his track record these days, he couldn't afford causing any more questions to rise among his teachers and classmates. It just wasn't worth the risk, he decided.

Wally settled for boarding the last bus home.

Now, the driver, Mr. Davis, had it out for Wally. (Of course. Because were there any Keystone High staff members who  _didn't_ hate him at this point?) The stupid reason why? Because Wally once –  _one time_  – made the mistake of suddenly crossing the street in front of the bus, and Mr. Davis ended up getting written up for nearly running over a student.

As Wally climbed the four steps onto the school bus, Mr. Davis glared at him. "Watch your step, bucko," he mumbled so only Wally could hear. Wally nodded slightly, trying to look as compliant and agreeable as he could.

He looked for a seat. Lo and behold, the only available spot on the entire bus was in the middle section on the aisle. As Wally squeezed in between his classmates and sat down, he already felt little waves of nausea hit his mind.

Just his luck. He was stressed and hungry and late and sitting and surrounded by people. Perfect recipe for his claustrophobia to flare up. Wonderful. Just  _wonderful_. Wally hoped the ride would be smooth, short, and uneventful. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He didn't even have a window seat, couldn't see anything beyond the jackets, backpacks, hats, and heads of the students surrounding him at all angles. So Wally ducked his head into his backpack, pinched his nose, took deep breaths, and pictured the wide open spaces of the farmland outside Central City.

_Everything is going to be fine, Wall-man._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 16:09 CST**

A flat tire. The school bus got a flat tire.

Wally nearly burst out in hysterical laughter. Unreal. What a day.

All of the occupants on the bus heard the loud _boom!_ from one of the right wheels on the vehicle, and Mr. Davis promptly pulled the bus over to the side of the road. Wally asked if he could get out to stretch his legs and get a breath of fresh air, and Mr. Davis just laughed in his face and shouted at him to shut up.

_Nice guy._

It slowly dawned on him. He was trapped in a cramped, unmoving, narrow, stuffy, tin can of doom. He started hyperventilating, his eyes wide.

The sides of the bus were closing in.

There was no way out, no escape.

He would be late getting home.

He would be kicked off the team.

He wouldn't get to be Kid Flash anymore.

He was running out of oxygen.

He couldn't breathe.

He was going to die in here.

It was as if he was watching himself on screen in a movie theater. The rational, scientific side of his brain recognized that he was exhibiting all of the known symptoms of a claustrophobia-induced panic attack. He was sweating profusely, his heart was pounding even faster than usual, he was becoming dizzy and lightheaded. His body was trembling, getting hot flashes and chills. (Thank goodness he wasn't vibrating at the moment – the friction would light the cheap plastic of his seat on fire and make the already bad situation even worse.) His fingers and toes were turning numb. He felt nauseous and disoriented, and his throat felt like invisible hands were strangling him. His fear levels? Off the charts.

But the irrational, panicked side of his brain could only think one thing over and over again:  _I'm going to die, get me out of here. I'm going to die, get me out of here. I'm going to die, get me out of here._

Ignoring the questioning glances of his peers around him, Wally attempted to get ahold of himself. He squeezed his eyes shut.  _Take it easy, Wall-man. You've handled way worse with way bigger stakes. You're going to be okay_ , he tried to reason with himself.

Dumping his backpack on the ground by his seat and pulling his legs up to his chest, Wally stuck his head in between his knees and tried to visualize himself somewhere else, anywhere else but here. He placed two fingers on his watch, feeling the tick of the gears in the device and doing his best to pace his breathing with the seconds.

He pictured the Cave, with the Team gathered around him, laughing and having a great time.

He pictured the North Atlantic Ocean, where he'd first seen Kaldur, emerging from the underwater kingdom of Atlantis at Aquaman's side.

He pictured Gotham, where he regularly met up with Roy and Dick on weekend team-up missions to take down the most dastardly of villains.

He pictured running beside Uncle Barry, happily decking Captain Boomerang in the face on his first patrol out as Kid Flash years ago.

The memories calmed him, soothed his mind. He was able to escape the containment of the bus, at least mentally. His breathing slowed, his pulse returned to normal. Before he knew it, the kid next to him was shoving his shoulder. "Yo, dude, wake up. It's your stop. Davis is yelling at you to get off here."

Wally lifted his head and practically ran down the steps, not even turning back to thank the driver. Freedom. He stood on the sidewalk as that yellow hearse they called a bus pulled away, his head thrown back, stretching his arms out wide and sucking in big lungfuls of clean, cool, Central City air.

Wally could barely restrain himself from breaking out in a run, instead resorting to a light jog home. This was bliss, the wind blowing through his hair, the even tap tap tap of his sneakers hitting the sidewalk, the pat pat pat of his backpack against his spine, the steadiness, the carefree feeling in his chest.

But all those great emotions dropped once he stepped through the front door of his house to see his mom and dad waiting for him, arms crossed and faces looking none too pleased.

Wally gulped.

_Late. So… late._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 17, 16:26 CST**

After a discussion even more heated than the current events debate in Social Studies that day, and after a few warnings from his parents, Wally finally broke away to speed through his homework in a record three minutes, sixteen seconds, time practically freezing in his perspective as he worked. He nearly ripped the notebook paper with his pencil tip in his eagerness.

There.

Dorky loser Wally West was done for the day.

Now it was the hero's playtime.

He stood from his desk, and turned to his closet rack. There, in all its gleaming glory, hung his suit. Slick material that was a unique cross between spandex, Kevlar, and a complicated blend of protective chemicals, the suit was designed for maximum streamlining, durability, and flexibility. After the Cadmus fiasco, he'd added a few alterations in the suit's design, including shoulder, elbow, and knee pads, and better gloves and gauntlets. The suit was complete with twin red, lighting-shaped earpieces that doubled as comms units, a yellow cowl that exposed his hair, eyes, and the lower half of his face to the wind, and two super-comfortable running boots.

The vibrant uniform was the equivalent of heaven to the teenaged speedster, and he couldn't wait to suit up. He darted forward, spun around in a vortex of red hair and yellow fabric, and finished in a heroic pose in the middle of his bedroom. Kid Flash was in the house.

Just needed the finishing touch. Wally pulled out his goggles from his backpack and pulled them onto his forehead.

There.

Wally grinned a genuine smile for the first time that day as he looked in the mirror. This was the real him, how he felt on the inside and out. He felt most comfortable as Kid Flash, savior of thousands and inspiration to kids everywhere.

In a flash of yellow and red stripes, Wally was out the door and on his way to the local Zeta tubes.

A night of awesomeness with the Team was waiting for him.


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wally is pumped to finally go out for a night of crime-fighting with the Team. But when the fight is on his home turf against his most familiar villains, will the mission take a turn for the worse?
> 
> And will it cause even more complications in the future?

**5**

**CONTACT**

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **November 17, 17:30 EST**

_Recognized. Kid Flash. B03._

"The Wall-man is here!" Wally announced as he always did, the tingling he always felt from Zeta-tubing into the Cave wearing off. The smell of earth and soil greeted him, and the soothing lighting made him feel more relaxed by the minute. This was a safe haven, a place for like-minded teen heroes to gather, joining forces to defeat evil, and best of all…

"Hey, Wally," M'gann smiled at him. "There's chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen if you want some!"

The Cave  _always_  had food.

Wally grinned wide. "Really? You rule, Megs! Thanks!" He darted into the kitchen to grab one or two or thirty. His stomach was eating him alive right now.

But guess who beat him to it? Dick- sorry,  _Robin_  - and Artemis were leaning against the counter, with Robin reaching over and snatching up the very last cookie on the tray and popping it in his mouth.

"Oh hey, Wally," Artemis sneered. "You didn't want these, right? We took the liberty of polishing off the last batch." They gave twin smirks of pure evil at Wally, who was nearly leaning on the island for support. Some friends he had.

"You… you didn't, guys. Did you?" Their dastardly smiles told the whole story. Wally felt absolutely crushed. Maybe these two meant to be funny, but he was literally starving. He needed food, and he needed it  _now_.

Not even in the mood to complain at this point, Wally groaned, then turned to rummage in the refrigerator for sandwich fixings and started to make a dozen ham and cheese sandwiches on the island. He heard Artemis shrug and exit the kitchen, leaving him and Robin alone. Wally focused on his task, his vision almost blurring from his hunger. His best friend sat on the opposite counter. "What's up, man? You seem to have less pep in your step than normal. Feeling whelmed?"

"Nope, Rob. Not  _whelmed_  at all," Wally sighed, stuffing the first sandwich entirely into his mouth before getting started on the second one.

"Rough day at school?" Robin asked curiously.

Wally looked up at his best friend with a sigh. "You have no idea."

And it was true. Boy Wonder wasn't a metahuman, and neither was Artemis. They didn't have to hide any powers or freakish metabolisms from their teachers and classmates. Kaldur couldn't relate either, since he went to school down in Shayeris where everyone had gills just like him. Conner and M'gann had no problem blending in at their school - which was ironic because they were  _aliens_ , for crying out loud - and even Zatanna, despite being a different species, a  _Homo magi_ , looked and acted exactly like any other human in her Catholic school.

Wally was the only one whose powers made his non-hero life  _that_  much more complicated.

He finished his fifth sandwich and offered Robin one. His friend wordlessly took it, and they leaned back and ate in comfortable silence.

Suddenly, Batman's low, gruff voice came on the intercom. "Team, report to the mission room."

 _Yes._  Finally, a chance to kick some bad guy butt and take out his frustrations on villains who deserved it. Wally and Robin exchanged grins of excitement. "Race you there," Wally taunted, bolting toward the mission room with Robin swinging through the Cave right behind him.

* * *

 **MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **November 17, 17:47 EST**

Batman's face batglared menacingly down at the Team from the big screen in the mission room. Throughout the entire briefing, Wally resisted the urge to start pacing. The day had been dragging long enough, and he was ready to release all of this nervous energy.

In his cold, grave voice, Batman informed the teens on their assignment parameters for the evening. "The Flash is off-world on a League mission tonight, so he asked me to pass along a tip from the Central City news station." Wally's head jerked up in surprise. No doubt Aunt Iris probably tipped Uncle Barry off. What was going on?

Four pictures flashed (no pun intended) onto the screen. Captain Cold, Trickster, Captain Boomerang, and Mirror Master. Wally narrowed his eyes. What were his villains up to now?

Batman continued. "The news source claims that the Rogues plan to make a heist at the Flash Museum in downtown Central City. Not much else is known, but Flash wished to ask Kid Flash's opinion in this matter." The Team turned to look at Wally. "Do you wish to take this mission alone, since this is your city and your villain gallery? Or do you want to have the Team with you?" asked Batman.

Wall didn't hesitate. "I'll need everyone on this." Robin stared at him for a moment in surprise.

"Very well," Batman nodded. "Your assignment is to perform covert reconnaissance, and if possible, stop the Rogues in whatever they are plotting. Kid Flash," Wally stood to attention. "You will co-lead this mission alongside Aqualad, since you will know the most about the area and the villains' abilities. Team, good luck." Batman's face vanished from the screen.

There was a pause as the weight of responsibility sank in. He was co-leading. He was the expert on the targets, for once. Sweet.

Wally clapped his hands together in anticipation. "Alright guys, let's talk game plan." But the Team started exchanging smiles and a few chuckles. "W-what's so funny?" Wally asked, very confused.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Please, Baywatch. Everyone knows that the 'Rogues' aren't exactly the baddest bad guys out there. They're pretty tame, especially compared to villains in cities like Gotham. They even have _rules_  against killing. This mission is a bit…  _below_  us, if you catch my drift."

Robin crossed his arms. "Yeah, why didn't you just want to take this one yourself? You could take these guys out easily on your own, right? It's your turf after all, you do this stuff all the time. Piece of cake."

Wally couldn't believe he was hearing this! "Come on, you guys! Just because the Rogues have standards doesn't mean they're not dangerous! We have to take this seriously. We can't afford to be careless." He inhaled and explained, gesturing emphatically with his hands, "The Flash has been challenging these guys for years before I even got my speed. They give  _him_  a hard time, let alone yours truly. The Rogues… they don't mess around, alright? Trust me."

Wally knew all too well what happened when you let your guard down around the Rogues, and it was  _never_  pretty. It was important that he wasn't going solo tonight, and it was equally important that everyone understood why. He locked eyes with Kaldur, silently pleading for him to back him up.

Kaldur didn't disappoint. "Team, we have a duty to complete any mission Batman assigns us and to complete it to the best of our ability. Dissent is not an option. Let us board the Bio-Ship promptly." The authority in his voice spurred the others to head out to the hangar and board M'gann's ship immediately.

Wally hung back. "So, Kaldur, I was thinking strategy, and I—"

The Atlantean interrupted. "With all due respect, Kid Flash, I do agree with the Team on this matter. We have fought and defeated more powerful and more menacing villains in the past, and considering how this team has grown since we began, I have every confidence that this mission will be a quick success." With a firm nod, Kaldur joined the Team on board, leaving Wally to sigh and bring up the rear.

He only hoped things turned out as well as the Team expected, and not as he was beginning to fear.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 18:23 CST**

The Bio-Ship was camouflaged and hovering over the Flash Museum. The Rogues hadn't shown up yet, and the Team was changing their suits to stealth-tech before descending to hide in the museum.

All except Wally, who retained his yellow-and-red standard colors so that the Rogues would recognize him and might be a little more comfortable in explaining their scheme. He and Flash had an…  _unconventional_ relationship with the Rogues Gallery, after all. Also, the Team agreed that once they finished the mission, KF would stay behind to handle any press and continue his patrol of Central City. He would need the uniform that everyone recognized for that.

As the Team was prepping to drop down into the museum, Wally was still spouting out any advice they might need to know. "Robin and Artemis, don't forget that Captain Boomerang has a lot of different trick shots and isn't afraid to fight dirty to get the upper hand. Miss Martian and Zatanna, Mirror Master can use any reflective surface to teleport, not just mirrors. The Flash Museum has a lot of shiny artifacts, so he'll probably use those to his advantage. Aqualad and Superboy, Captain Cold—"

Superboy grunted impatiently. "Can we just get his over with?" Without a warning, he jumped down to the Museum below. The Team followed and Wally shook his head. He really, really hoped the Team would take the mission seriously.

Three minutes later, everyone was in position. Miss Martian set up the mind-link, and Aqualad asked,  _Is everyone ready?_

Zatanna confirmed,  _Yeah, we're good. Anyone have eyes on the enemy yet?_

There was a pause, and then Robin piped up,  _I see shadows and hear some voices. East Wing._

 _Alright. Team, move in, but remain covert_ , Aqualad commanded. Wally silently tiptoed down from the North Wing and looked around the corner down the East Wing. Captain Cold was up front, flanked on his right and left by Mirror Master and Captain Boomerang, while Trickster trailed behind.

"What are we looking for again, exactly?" Wally heard Mirror Master ask.

"Flash confiscated my prototype ice-missile launcher last month in a botched robbery. I need it if we're going to pull this off," Cold replied in his low, cool tone.

Trickster skipped up to the front. "What makes you think he's going to show up tonight, anyway?"

Captain Boomerang slapped the clown upside the head. "Weren't ya paying attention, ya little bugger? We dropped a hot tip at the news office this morning. If Flash ain't here tonight, he's either stupid… or too scared to face us."

Wally bristled at the Rogues calling his uncle a coward. But he remained still in his position, waiting for Aqualad's cue.

Captain Cold resumed his brisk pace. "I think the weapon's near the South Wing. Come on, hurry up. I want this to be fast and easy. We don't want to be caught by surprise."

Well,  _that_  was an opening for an epic entrance if there ever was one.

 _Now, Kid_ , Aqualad urged. "Too late, boys." Wally emerged from the shadows, smiling his trademark speedster smirk. "Who wants to surrender first, no harm no foul?"

Captain Boomerang did not look amused. "Well, look who it is. Where's your daddy, Baby Flash? Surprised he let you out alone on a night like tonight."

Wally crouched in a running stance, loving the rush of adrenaline that sparked and flushed him with energy. He pulled his goggles down from his forehead over his eyes and replied calmly, "Good thing I'm not alone, then, right?"

That's when the Team swooped in from all directions, and the fight began.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 17, 18:49 CST**

At first, the battle seemed to be going smoothly for the teenaged heroes. Superboy and Aqualad were double-teaming Captain Cold, who had his hands full avoiding Superboy's strength while using his freeze-gun to counter Aqualad's water attacks. Ice shards flew everywhere.

Artemis and Robin were handling Captain Boomerang pretty well, with Artemis attacking the villain head-on while Robin used his birdarangs to take out the boomerangs that were flying in arcs around the room. Their aim and teamwork was flawless, and Boomerang was beginning to look very frazzled.

Zatanna cast her reverse-speech spells to defend against Mirror Master's multiplication abilities, while Miss Martian used her shape-shifting abilities to dodge his reflective attacks. Neither girls were breaking a sweat yet.

And Wally was taking Trickster one-on-one. The Flash Museum was designed so that each wing was shaped like a tube, so Wally was able to run up the walls, over the ceiling, and back down the other side with ease, like a toy car on a loop-de-loop racetrack. It made avoiding Trickster's acid-blasts simple while allowing him to keep up full speed in any direction. "What's your play, Trickster? Are you off your medication again?" Wally shouted over the noise.

The delusional clown cackled. "I dunno, Baby Flash! Are you off  _your_  medication?" He pointed his acid gun and fired again.

Wally sighed. The guy wasn't making any sense. Not a good sign. He ran in another full loop, the blood temporarily rushing to his head whenever he went upside down on the ceiling, and then slid across the tiled floor, sweeping his foot behind Trickster's legs and knocking him down flat on his back.

Black Canary taught him that move.

Wally placed his foot on the clown's chest to hold him still. "Come on, James, let's be real. What are you after? Flash would  _not_  be happy to see you out of the hospital, buddy."

Trickster just shrugged. "Aww, Baby Flash, I dunno. Cold just said that there would be free ice cream afterwards if I helped him out on a robbery tonight. We didn't think you'd show up, though, we were expecting Flash, honest!" The criminal looked remorseful. "I'm… I'm sorry, Baby Flash."

Wally frowned, lifting his foot off of Trickster in confusion. "What do you mean, you're sorry? For what?" Trickster, of all the Rogues, was actually pretty harmless most of the time. If he was apologizing, then something was very wrong with this picture.

Trickster started blubbering like a baby. "S-sorry your friends have to get hurt, Baby Flash!"

Wally felt a chill go down his back. He spun around at lightning speed to see that the battle had gone downhill fast. "Oh, no…"

He made a move to assist the Team, but Trickster had surged up and pinned him down hard, and then sealed him to the floor with super-super-glue. Wally could only watch in frustration while he focused on vibrating to create friction that could break his bonds.

The fact was, the Rogues were unique among criminals. These villains were used to fighting speedsters on a daily basis, and after years of experience dueling with Flash and Kid Flash, they were experts at thinking outside the box and coming up with fast counterstrikes. They were proficient at seeing patterns and problem-solving.

So to the Team, who had underestimated the Rogues and were unprepared for enemies who thought and acted several times faster than them, the fight went south before long.

Mirror Master had used the scuffed reflection of an old metal helmet that Flash took from Gorilla Grodd five years ago to create ten identical clones of himself, allowing him to sneak up and knock Zatanna out from behind. He had then thrown a handful of glass dust into the air and used the millions of reflective surfaces to create a web of lasers that momentarily trapped Miss Martian, giving him time to whack her in the head with the helmet.

Captain Cold used his freeze-gun to ice the floor, creating a slick surface that caused Superboy to slip and loose his balance. With a few quick shots, the Kryptonian clone was frozen in a thick casing of ice against a wall. Aqualad fared better on the ice and used his water-bearers to make a mace out of his enchanted water. He managed to bat Cold's freeze-gun out of his grip, then dealt a strong hit into the villain's chest, knocking him back several feet.

Just then, Mirror Master, who had vanished from the scene for a few minutes after dealing with the magician and the telepath, emerged from the South Wing and tossed a large pale-blue and steel device to Cold. "This what you were looking for, Cold?"

The icy villain stood to his feet and smiled, weighing the machine in his hands. "Exactly. Much obliged," he nodded at his comrade, then pointed the machine at Aqualad's approaching form and fired. Two missiles, as wide as Kid Flash's head and about as long as Robin was tall, materialized from the launcher. They were an unusual combination of ice and metal lacing, and when they made contact with Aqualad's chest, they threw him back nearly fifty feet to slam into a display case. Aqualad was out cold (again, no pun intended).

Robin and Artemis weren't doing much better. Captain Boomerang was tossing out four or five boomerangs a second, and Robin was having trouble keeping up with them. Artemis was starting to run out of arrows, and an explosive boomerang detonated near her feet, throwing her back against a wall. Robin had to cover both of them while she recovered, now placed on the defensive, and he was looking pretty desperate.

Wally growled in anger. Boomerang was known for extremely harmful – even lethal – weapons. Robin and Artemis needed help. He was almost free…

There! The glue broke apart, and Kid Flash jackknifed to his feet, dealing a swift uppercut to Trickster's chin. "Sorrynotsorry!" Then he turned and dashed across the museum to aid his friends.

Robin had his hands full with defending Artemis, who was now out of arrows, and avoiding boomerangs that kept arcing and returning to strike at him from all angles. As Wally came closer, he saw in slow motion a paper-thin, razor-sharp boomerang escape Robin's sight. Wally did the math, calculated the trajectory, and saw where it would land.

Robin's head.

Kid Flash put on a burst of speed, and leaped, tackling Robin to the ground and out of the way with a yell. Not losing his momentum, Wally kept running up a wall and used it to springboard out and kick another stray boomerang away. He landed and came to a skidding stop at Robin and Artemis's side.

"You guys okay?" Wally asked quietly, watching Captain Boomerang's movements carefully. The villain had paused for a moment, eyeing Kid Flash with a mad gleam in his eye.

Or was that…  _triumph_?

Robin nodded, but looked oddly uneasy. "Yeah, we're fine. Question is, are you okay, KF?" He pointed at Wally's left shoulder. Wally looked down.

The silver boomerang had sliced through the material in his suit and was halfway embedded in his arm, just below his shoulder pad. Wally apparently was so hyped up on adrenaline, he didn't even notice. Even now, he didn't feel any pain. But it was definitely there, and there was definitely a wound, and he was definitely bleeding.

_Well, that is just peachy._

Wally reached over and pulled out the boomerang, shaking off the few drops of blood. Eyeing Captain Boomerang, he remembered what Uncle Barry always told him whenever they fought the Rogues: the best way to defeat an unpredictable enemy is to be unpredictable yourself.

What's more unpredictable than Kid Flash throwing a boomerang? Wally chucked the weapon the way Uncle Barry had taught him. It arced beautifully through the air, and Captain Boomerang, not expecting the attack, was caught off guard and pinned to the wall by the fabric of his coat.

Ignoring the pain that was starting to flare up in his arm, Kid Flash turned to his teammates. "Robin, do you have a net in your belt?" Because you can ask a Bat for anything and nine times out of ten he'll have it. It's pretty awesome.

"Yeah," Robin nodded, reaching to pull it out.

"Perfect. Artemis, you and Robin get ready to capture the Rogues as soon as I round them up." Wally turned to dash off, but Artemis grabbed his hand.

"You sure you're okay? That looks… really bad." She looked a little grossed out, and was that  _concern_  he detected in her tone of voice? Wally ignored the little fluttering feeling in his lungs, brushing it off as symptoms of the beginning of shock from his injury.

"Aw, shucks, you do care! No worries, I'm a speedster. We heal fast!" he replied as he ran off.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 17, 20:02 CST**

Fifteen minutes later, the Rogues were dangling off the ground in a net hanging from the ceiling of the Flash Museum, the Team had returned to the Bio-Ship, and Kid Flash directed the police and clean-up crews. He waved off the EMS medics, insisting that his arm was fine – especially compared to the rest of the team – and emerged from the front doors of the museum to face the waiting press.

Dealing with news reporters was a necessary evil in his job description. Uncle Barry taught him early on how to answer their nosy questions diplomatically and heroically, and Wally now handled the press all the time on his own. Still, he wanted nothing more right now than to get on patrol of the city and then go to the Allen house for a nice late dinner and a good night's rest.

"Kid Flash, what were the Rogues up to?"

"Kid Flash, where is the Flash?"

"Kid Flash, did you nab the villains alone?"

"Kid Flash, are you injured?" That question came from his Aunt Iris, and while she was careful to look and sound impartial, he could tell that she was worried about his arm.

He smiled and replied, "I may have been nicked a little by Captain Boomerang, but I assure you that my arm has already healed quickly. It's just a scratch."  _Don't worry, Aunt Iris_ , Wally conveyed with his eyes to the red-haired reporter, and she nodded, satisfied for the moment.

He continued, "The criminals have been subdued and are now in police custody. The artifacts in the Flash Museum are secure. Now, sorry everyone, but I've gotta run." The news reporters chuckled at the cliché pun, and Kid Flash zoomed away to finish the night's patrol.

As he sprinted down a residential street on the south side of Central City, he snatched up a brown bag resting on a house's porch with the Flash logo taped onto it. It was a gesture from the Flash Food Initiative. Sweet, snickerdoodles! (Here's the irony for you: the cookies were actually made by Ms. Marcie, the lunch lady, but neither she nor Wally knew that.)

Wally stuffed two in his mouth at once and absentmindedly rubbed his left arm.

Normally a cut would have healed by now, or it would have at least started to hurt less. But he could feel the skin and muscle starting to swell up underneath the fabric of his suit, and it throbbed under his touch. _Owwww…_  he thought to himself. This was weird. It must have been deeper than he thought.

Finally, an hour and a half later, his patrol of Central City was over. Making sure none of the neighbors were watching, Wally stumbled into his Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris's house, unlocking the door with the key he kept in one of the cupboards in his gauntlets. He dragged himself into the kitchen and slumped into a chair, pulling back his cowl and rubbing his face in exhaustion.

Man, he was wiped.

But six bowls of Lucky Charms cereal later, Wally felt a little better. The front door opened, and his Aunt Iris called into the house. "Wally? Are you home?"

"In the kitchen, Aunt Iris!"

Yes, the Allen house was like Wally's second home. He spent just as much time here with his Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry as he did with his own parents, thanks to nights like tonight when missions and patrol ran later than expected. Because his aunt was used to feeding the Flash, she always had way more food than his parents did, so if Wally wanted to feel full after dinner for a change, he knew to come here where he was always welcome at their table.

It wasn't… it wasn't as if he didn't like his parents. As far as moms and dads go, his were fine, Wally decided. It was just that sometimes it was hard to communicate with them. They couldn't relate to him at all, didn't understand why he felt compelled to "run off into danger night after night, risking his life for strangers without getting paid a cent". But the Allen couple understood perfectly.

"Hey there, kiddo. Rough night, huh?" With a smile and a ruffle of his hair, the ginger woman always made him instantly feel better. But he noticed her attention dart straight to his arm, which was still bleeding slightly. "Want me to patch up your suit, Mr. 'It's Just a Scratch'?" She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. She always saw through his fibs; Wally didn't know why he ever tried lying.

He sighed and nodded. "That'd be great, Aunt Iris." He rose from his chair, wincing as he put weight on his arm, and walked upstairs to his room that his aunt and uncle let him use whenever he wanted. He even had spare clothes there.

As he carefully peeled his way out of the yellow suit, Wally got a good look at the gash where the boomerang had hit him. It was about four inches wide and really deep, maybe five inches. But it was already starting to stop bleeding, and it didn't look like there was any infection or contamination. It seemed just like a clean, straight slice, and with any luck it would be healed up by morning.

(Unfortunately, being a somewhat klutzy teenaged speedster meant that Wally had gotten uncannily proficient at assessing his own injuries.)

Wally changed into a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt and some pajama bottoms, then went back downstairs to give his suit to Aunt Iris so she could mend it. As he descended the steps, he caught a whiff of his aunt's famous tuna noodle casserole (it actually tasted fantastic, in case you were wondering), and his stomach growled. "Wow, smells great!"

"Ah ah ah," she shook her finger at him playfully. "No food for you until you wash and bandage up that gash on your arm."  _Nothing gets past that woman_ , Wally fondly thought to himself, but obeyed, pulling out the First Aid kit from a cabinet underneath a countertop. With sad expertise, he used alcohol wipes to clear away any invisible germs, grimacing slightly at the sting, and then dabbed on some Neosporin at his aunt's insistence. He finished up with a long, wide, white ace bandage that wrapped several times around his arm. There. No problem.

As Wally dug into his dinner, his aunt gave him a brief summary of the day's news. Apparently, while Wally had been at school, Uncle Barry had foiled three robberies, ended two attempted assaults, and even ran over to Star City to help out Green Arrow solve a case involving a series of stolen vats of chocolate. "Oh, and Roy says hi," Aunt Iris added with a smile.

Wally swallowed his mouthful of casserole and replied, "Man, I haven't seen the guy in forever. He and Dick and I should hang out this weekend. Can you get my mom's permission, Aunt Iris?"

The red-haired woman frowned disapprovingly. "You know I don't like lying to your parents, mister. Why don't you ask them yourself?"

She motioned for him to wash his dishes, and as he rinsed them with soap and water under the sink, he answered, "Because they'll say no! Please, Aunt Iris."

She sighed and nodded. "Alright, Wally, I'll see what I can do. Now why don't you get some sleep? It's late." Wally kissed her on the cheek good-night and dropped into bed, sleeping soundly.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 17, 22:56 CST**

In the Central City police station waiting to be transferred, the four Rogues who had been captured that evening were conferring quietly in their cell. Despite being caught in their schemes, the villains looked oddly pleased with themselves.

"So you're  _sure_  that Baby Flash was hit?" Mirror Master asked Captain Boomerang eagerly.

"Positive. Saw it with my own eyes," affirmed the Aussie proudly.

Captain Cold closed his eyes with satisfaction. "Excellent. Everything is going according to plan. Trickster, have you contacted you-know-who?"

The clown shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, still uncomfortable about what they did to Baby Flash, and replied, "Yeah. Should be on his way."

Cold nodded. "Once he gets here and we pass along the information, we'll make our getaway when we're in transit to Arkham. He'll proceed with the next stage in the plan in the meanwhile and report back to us."

A few minutes later, a lithe figure pried open the window to the cell ward of the police station and dropped down to the floor soundlessly. Shaded eyes cautiously surveyed his surroundings, and then he stepped out of the shadows into the light. He was dressed in black and green, with a lime green hood over his head that cast a dark shadow over his face, and wore a silver belt around his waist. In his hand was, oddly enough, a silver flute. While he wasn't particularly tall or muscular, he still wore an aura of danger and hidden power. He approached the Rogues, stealthily and silently, with the stalking step of a hunter.

Spinning his flute around his fingers like a baton, he asked in a slow, low voice, "Did someone call for a Piper?"


	6. Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the mission the previous night, Wally finds himself nursing a wound and rethinking the circumstances of the Rogues' attack. Meanwhile, Barry Allen looks into the mysterious new weapon used in the fight.
> 
> Things are heating up for our resident teen speedster…

**6**

**WEAPON**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 18, 9:00 CST**

As the bell rang the next morning at the start of English class, Wally West slouched at his desk, lost in thought. His head rested on his arms, his hair looking a little less spiky than usual. His fingers absentmindedly picked at his shirt and rubbed his arm where the boomerang had hit him last night.

When Wally had tried to push himself out of bed that morning, his stupid arm had locked up and  _buckled_. Rather than healing completely overnight like it was supposed to, it decided to get even worse. It wasn't even infected, and it still hurt worse than any other cut or gash Wally had gotten since the night he got his powers.

But that wasn't what was bothering him at the moment. Trickster's words kept replaying over and over in his head _. "We didn't think you'd show up, though, we were expecting Flash, honest! I'm… I'm sorry, Baby Flash."_  When Trickster said it, he sounded like he was genuinely apologetic, like Wally was in serious danger.

Well, moreso than usual.

But then… " _S-sorry your friends have to get hurt, Baby Flash!"_  And that had distracted Wally long enough for the clown to tackle him and glue him to the floor (as freaking ridiculous as that sounded in hindsight). He'd been forced to watch his Team get taken down one by one until only Artemis and Robin were still fighting.

Trickster's words made sense, since there was no way the Rogues could have expected the Team to show up. But still, something in the impish clown's tone of voice didn't add up… Wally frowned and resisted the urge to groan, instead burying his head in his arms.

His phone in his pocket buzzed, and he snuck it out for a quick peek while Ms. Small took attendance. It was Dick:  _sorry again about last nite. you were rite_.

Taking a glance up at the teacher, whose back was turned while she was writing on the board, Wally replied:  _it's ok. simple mistake. now you know_.

Dick:  _how's ur arm?_  Wally could practically hear the guilt in Dick's voice.

Wally:  _still kinda hurts. weird huh?_

There was a pause, then his best friend texted back:  _not just weird. disaster. heavy on the dis…_   _u should have Bruce take a look. could b dangerous._

Wally was about to answer when Ms. Small cleared her throat. "Mr. West? Care to comment?"

Well, turds. "Uhhh…" Wally began intelligently. He had no idea what the teacher was talking about.

Next to him, Hartley whispered under his hand, "Jesus."

Like a good little red parrot, Wally echoed loudly, "Jesus!" Well, maybe a little  _too_  loudly, judging by the frown on Ms. Small's face and the stifled giggles from around the classroom.

… In retrospect, that probably came out wrong.

Thinking fast, Wally elaborated. "I mean… uh… It's, uh, it's a Biblical allusion, uh, to Jesus?"

Her lips pursed in subtle disapproval, Ms. Small gave a curt nod. "Correct." She turned to the blackboard and underlined twice in white chalk the words 'Lord of the Flies', starting to talk about some kid named Simon. Ah, so that's what the discussion was about.

Wally vaguely remembered that book being on the required reading list that he never touched last summer. He had been a little busy doing speed training with Uncle Barry, and then getting started with the Team following the Cadmus incident. Why read some boring book when you could be running with your mentor cross-country - literally?

Besides, he figured that if there ever was an assessment on the books, he could always flip through them a few seconds before the test and hopefully still pass. (Speed reading, though not exactly helpful for long-term retention, was his ace in the hole for pop quizzes.)

With Ms. Small's attention directed away from him, Wally replied to Dick:  _u mite be rite. can I stop by ur house after school 2day?_

Immediately, his friend replied:  _sure. stay traught man_.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 10:36 CST**

A crime scene investigator stumbled into work an hour and a half late, bleary-eyed, his blonde hair disheveled, and his shirt not only untucked, but backwards. He had dark bags under his eyes that made him look like he'd been in a gang fight, and his entrance was marked by an audible growling noise of hunger.

"I'm here!" he blurted, a little out of breath. "I'm… I'm here."

Meet Barry Allen, better known as the Flash.

He had just gotten back from a long night of heroism, much like his nephew. After patching through the tip from Central City to Bruce immediately after coming home from work, he had Zeta-tubed up to the Watchtower where he sat in a two-hour budget meeting with the League founding members. (Two words:  _Snore Fest_.) He then accompanied the two Green Lanterns, Hawkman, Hawkwoman, and Wonder Woman on an intergalactic diplomatic mission, followed by an at-first-unexpected-but-in-hindsight-completely-predictable ambush by space pirates.

He  _hated_  space pirates.

It was nearly four in the morning by the time Barry had slipped into his house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. Careful not to wake his wife, who had fallen asleep with the light on and a book on her lap (probably waiting up for him, despite his constant reminders that most heroes rarely come home early), he changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed. But a few hours later, the blonde speedster forced himself to roll out of bed once more, get dressed, and go to work.

By the time he'd made it downstairs, both Wally and Iris had gone to school or work for the day, and there was a big stack of pancakes waiting for him in the refrigerator with a sweet note from his wife. He never even got the chance to ask his nephew how last night went.

Then he drove – as achingly slow as a car was to a speedster – to work. The great part about his job, though, was that he still got to serve the people of his town. Just in a different capacity. As Central City's top forensic scientist, Barry solved criminal injustice both day and night. And as he dropped down into his rolling chair behind his lab desk, he couldn't help a small smile despite his fatigue.

Just then, his boss, Dr. Richardson, came up beside him and spoke in his usual condescending voice. "Glad to see you cared to show up to work today, Allen. Though you are, as usual,  _very_  late. I'm docking your pay. Now please,  _please_ , get something done today." The ornery man tossed a stack of files nearly two feet tall onto Barry's desk and turned without another word.

"Good morning to you, too, sir," Barry muttered sarcastically. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration before dragging the first paper-clipped file off the stack and opening it. Barry wanted desperately to skip through the folders until he found the break-in at the Museum from the night before, just so that he could see how Wally did against the Rogues. Yet he restrained himself, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to his nephew and possibly make connections between himself and Kid Flash. So he started from the top and worked his way down.

But before he even started reading the police report, his co-worker Justin leaned out of his cubicle and whispered, "Psst. Barry."

He glanced at Justin. "Hmm?" he asked with a good-natured smile.

Justin looked around and pushed his goggles back up the bridge of his nose before continuing in a low, conspiratorial tone, "Don't know if ya heard yet, but… uh, Kid Flash and a few other unknown supers took on the Rogues last night. Flash Museum. Uh, around eight pm. Boss stuck the file at the bottom of your stack this morning as, uh, as a test to see if you'd make it there by the end of the day. Think he wants to screw ya over or something. So, just saying, if I were you, I'd… uh, I'd start from the bottom." Then he quickly darted back to his cubicle and resumed his fingerprint testing.

_Yes! Excuse to jump to the good stuff!_

With a nod of gratitude, Barry lifted the stack up and jiggled the thick folder out from the bottom. As he started pulling the paperclip off, he frowned at the thought that his boss seriously had it out for him. Barry knew his tardiness was getting out of hand, but he would never think that Dr. Richardson would actively try to get him fired. Was it jealousy that Barry had the highest number of cracked cases on record in CCPD history, compared to Richardson's relatively lackluster career?

Barry shrugged and flipped open the file, secretly speed-reading the police report. Hmm, looks like only Wally stayed behind to talk to the police. Probably keeping the rest of the Team's activities covert. Smart.

When he got to the picture of Captain Cold's ice-missile launcher, Barry slowly shook his head in confusion. That didn't make any sense. Cold never even  _wanted_  that missile launcher. Said it was a dud, a failed prototype. In fact, when Barry made his rounds – as the Flash, of course - at the Rogues' hangout bar last month, Cold came up to him and literally  _handed_  the ice-missile launcher to him, begging him to take it off his hands. Heck, he even agreed to Barry claiming that he confiscated it during a foiled felony, just to make it seem less suspicious. Barry figured it was better for the weapon to be stored in a facility rather than in Cold's hands, so he took it without hesitation.

Bottom line: there was no reason why Cold needed that weapon that badly. By now, he had several newer, better, more efficient models than that prototype. So if it worked the way Kid said it did, then why… Something didn't add up, which could only mean one thing.

The break-in was a setup, a trap.

Suddenly on edge, Barry quickly flipped through the rest of the report, breezing past the unimpressive images of Mirror Master's reflective tools and Trickster's acid-gun, and stopped at a picture of a boomerang embedded into a wall. It was incredibly thin, and seemed to be much smaller than anything Boomerang had used in the past. With well-trained eyes, Barry noted the finely-serrated edges, as well as the carefully-placed grooves that would have caused the boomerang to have a tighter, more definite arc than some other models the Rogue generally used. But it was the two ends of the boomerang that stood out to Barry the most: they weren't rounded or dull in the least.

They were sharpened, intended to work like  _knives_  on the human (or metahuman) body.

And judging by the faint bloodstains on the pale, shining metal, someone on the Team had found that out the hard way.

Barry stood to his feet abruptly and practically burst out of the lab room. He fought the temptation to sprint at top speed down the hallway of the police station to the evidence closet. His thoughts were spinning at a hundred miles an hour. If one of the kids on the Team had been hit with a new, revolutionary boomerang, then he had to make sure that there wasn't anything particularly funky in the weapon. Boomerang was one of the few Rogues who had a tendency to bend the no-killing rule; he could have created a bioterrorist-type metal, or added a parasite, or even hidden a toxin in the blade-like tips.

Deep down, though he knew it wasn't proper as a hero to show favoritism or partiality… Barry really, really hoped that Wally wasn't the one who'd been hit.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 9:45 CST**

After class let out, Wally noticed Hartley caught up to his side. "Hey, Walls. What was  _that_? You're spacier than usual today."

Wally sighed in exhaustion at looked up at the guy walking next to him. Meet Hartley Rathaway, also a sophomore, also with red-hair that was so long he wore it in a ponytail. You could say that of all the kids in Keystone High, Hartley was the closest Wally had to a friend. They only had English class together, and they had different lunch periods, but they saw each other during passing period sometimes.

Some days, Hartley would do his English homework if Wally did his chemistry homework. Sure, their arrangement may not have been completely  _honest_ , but at least it was better than the guys who tried to bully Wally into doing their homework last year. He smiled. The Flash himself made a visit to the school and gave this big sappy speech about how bullying was just as wrong as anything the Joker's sick mind could cook up. Then he said that if there was any bullying going on in Keystone High,  _he_  would put a stop to it.

Wally was never bullied again.

To answer Hartley's question though, Wally ran a hand through his head and replied, "Yeah, I had a late night. Kinda tired." And it was true. He didn't get to bed until around two in the morning, and then he had to wake up early so he could stop by his parents' house. Uncle Barry had looked way too wiped to join Wally on their habitual morning jog from Missouri to the Gulf of Mexico, and frankly, Wally felt the same.

But Hartley just laughed. "Yeah, well, better snap out of it before Ms. Hasbrouck's class. You know how she is with kids who fall asleep. Especially you." He winked and gave Wally a playful nudge with his elbow before darting off to orchestra. "See you later, Wally!"

Wally was left standing in the middle of the hallway blinking back random tears and clutching his arm.  _Ow…._  Hartley had only touched him a little, yet it felt like his arm was on fire while being run over by a steamroller. This was not okay. Nothing had ever hurt so bad that it made him nearly cry. Not even when he broke his arm a while ago fighting the Injustice League. "Get it together, Wall-man. Suck it up."

As he walked into Chemistry class, he noticed his  _favorite person in the world_ , Coach Matthews, walking out. The coach gave him the stink eye as they passed each other, and Wally shuddered. That guy was like a bad wart. He just. Kept. Coming. Back. Bad enough Wally had gym class every day; he didn't need to see that ogre of a human being twenty-four-seven.

And what was he even doing in Ms. Hasbrouck's classroom, anyway?

As soon as he slid into his desk, Wally's mind wandered. His thoughts returned to last night's mission with the Team, and the aftermath when he barely resisted pointing and shouting,  _"I told you so!"_  to everyone. They all looked pretty guilty though, and Kaldur especially looked ashamed for not taking the mission seriously enough. He probably felt the worst since he would be the one reporting to Batman at the debriefing back at the Cave. Wally actually felt sorry for the guy.

"Wallace," Ms. Hasbrouck snapped at him. He hated when she called him that.

"Uh, here!" he blurted.  _Please be attendance, please be attendance…_  Wally was getting tired of teachers singling him out. With Ms. Hasbrouck in particular, it felt like she was always so nice and kind to everyone else, but despised him and him only.

As she did every day, the woman glared at him with a warning to pay attention and began the lesson. And as he did every day, Wally instantly tuned her out. It was a mundane topic, like titrations or something. Just like with everything else he was supposed to be "learning", Wally already knew this material like the back of his hand. He'd had to teach himself advanced chemistry several years ago when he was preparing to recreate the Flash's experiment.

If you figure out how to give yourself super-speed at age ten and actually  _succeed_ , then you're probably golden in the chemistry department. At least, that's the way Wally saw it. He doodled the Flash insignia in his notebook, and then drew the logos of the rest of his Team. M'gann's Martian X, Conner's "S" -sorry, the "coat of arms for the House of El", whatever that meant – Kaldur's funny symbol on his belt that kind of looked like half of the McDonald's golden arches… That thought almost made him laugh out loud.

"Is there something funny you would care to share with the class, Wallace? Perhaps the Henderson-Hasselbalch equation we're discussing?" Ms. Hasbrouck's eyes seemed to look straight to his soul. (Wally had been keeping count. If she had laser vision like Superman, he would have been roasted exactly  _sixty-three times_  this semester.)

But he obeyed, rattling off the knowledge from the back of his mind. "The Henderson-Hasselbalch equation is used to calculate the pH of a buffer solution or the concentration of the acid and base. By substitution the values for a weak acid and its conjugate base, for example, you can find the value of the pH of the buffer."

Cake.

"That's… exactly right. As usual." Yet this only seemed to make Ms. Hasbrouck angrier. She her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Care to solve the problem on the board, then, Wallace?"

Wally exhaled and rose from his seat, purposely avoiding putting pressure on his arm, and walked over to the board. He had done this problem a million times – three years ago. He picked up the marker and started working the problem automatically, his mind thinking of at least six other things he could have been doing at the moment, any of which would be more interesting than this.

"Wallace?"

Now what? "Yes, ma'am?"

"Would you like to use a calculator?" She held up a device in her hand, pointing at the spot where Wally would need to use it. This problem was a bit too complex to solve without a calculator, she was trying to say. Well… not quite.

"That's alright." Wally shrugged and solved it out in a few seconds anyway. He returned to his seat, the class gaping at him. The teacher stared at the board.

"How… how were you able to…?" She turned, her blonde curls flipping around, and Wally saw instantly in her eyes a look that many teachers had given him over the years.  _Oh, here it comes…_  She thought he was cheating. He knew what would inevitably come next… "Wallace, I will see you after class."

Terrific.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 10:37 CST**

Wally stood before Ms. Hasbrouck's desk, looking down at her, barely hiding his impatience. She, likewise, looked very irritated as she engaged him in a staring contest. Wally lost, of course. (Since seconds can seem like hours to speedsters, managing to avoid blinking for more than thirty seconds was close to impossible.)

"Mr. West," she finally said, the corners of her mouth turned down sternly. "I understand that you think yourself a very smart boy when it comes to science, am I correct?"

 _Not just smart_ , Wally thought,  _Freaking brilliant. Science made me who I am._  It wasn't cockiness; it was the truth. But that probably wasn't the right response, so he said, "I'm a fast learner, I guess. Ma'am." Being polite dodges a fight.

Ms. Hasbrouck harrumphed and then gestured to the board. "Be that as it may, it doesn't explain why you were able to solve that equation without the use of a calculator. As far as logarithms go, that one involved a nonrepeating decimal, yet you managed to not only find the solution, but to truncate the answer flawlessly to four decimal places." She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for a suitable explanation.

"My, uh, my friend taught me some tricks to solving logarithms on the fly." And it was the truth. Wally may not be a math genius, but Dick was an honest-to-goodness  _mathlete_. The two dorks helped each other out with homework during their off time at the Cave. Right before serious one-on-one Mario Kart tournaments.

The teacher's eyes narrowed. "Your friend. I see. I'm assuming that this friend of yours is not a student here at Keystone High School?"

Wally stammered. "Wha-what makes you say that?"

With a cruel smirk, Ms. Hasbrouck replied, "Wallace, it's no secret that you don't exactly have a large group of friends." Well, haha...  _Ouch_. "In fact, I will have you know that you aren't exactly popular among the faculty either. For some students, this may be a perfectly fine position to be in. However, I understand that you intend to go to college following graduation from high school, am I right?"

Wally shrugged. He had never really thought about it before, but he assumed that college was his destination in a few years. He would have to figure out how post-high school education would work out around his superhero schedule, though. Kicking butt takes priority and all that.

The blonde woman blinked. "If you do intend to get into any college or university, you are going to need teacher recommendations. And I'll give you a hint: teachers will only be willing to write you recommendations if they  _like_  you."

With a gulp, Wally managed to utter in an ironically curious voice, "And… and do you not like me?" Pff. Both of them already knew the answer to that question. She hated his guts, no mystery there. "Well… why not? I mean, I… I turn in homework, I do well on tests. I'm obviously learning the material, ma'am. What am I doing wrong?"

"It's not because of your grades, Wallace," Ms. Hasbrouck sighed. "It's because of how you earn those grades. While you may very well comprehend all of the material in my class for the rest of the year, you still come into class with a terrible attitude. Your attitude, your lack of attention and regard for what I carefully prepare for class each day, makes me feel that  _I_  am wasting my time as a teacher." Wally tried to object, but she cut him off, "Now, I know you have  _no clue_  what it feels like to be underappreciated, to be mistreated day in and day out, to sacrifice your time for your duty to help people, to be taken advantage of despite your knowledge and abilities. But let me tell you, it's very frustrating."

_Oh, man… If she only knew…_

But it was kind of ironic how he could relate. Their service, though vastly different in nature, was thankless, time-consuming, and draining, and yet they did so anyway. (Didn't quite justify her ice-cold soul and glares of death, though.) Wally ducked his head politely in acknowledgement. "I get it, ma'am. I will do my best to be a better student in the future."

Appeased for the moment, the teacher sat back in her chair. "You are free to go, Wallace." Wally turned to leave the classroom, but then she called after him. "By the way, Mr. West. You aced the equilibrium test. Good work." He spun around at the compliment and was surprised to see a small smile on her face.

_Bipolar much?_

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 11:23 CST**

"Ooh, you're a tricky one, aren't you?"

In the crime lab at the Central City Police Department, Barry was bent over his lab table under a blacklight, peering through a magnifying glass and poking at an object with a pair of tweezers. He was mumbling to himself as he worked, trying to make sense of what he saw.

He had acquired permission from the guard of the evidence locker to perform some tests on the boomerang and took it down to the darkroom where he could work in peace. Barry expertly snapped on his goggles and then pulled on a pair of thick, sterile work gloves (he didn't want to get sliced by the sharpened metal, after all). Then he lifted up the carefully sealed evidence bag, peeled it open, and pulled out the weapon.

Even in near-total darkness, the boomerang seemed to gleam. It was lightweight, lighter than a kitchen knife, and Barry tried to imagine the amount of sheer  _technique_  Captain Boomerang would need to be able to throw a thin, light weapon like this without cutting himself. The man may have been a villain, but no one, not even Barry, could deny his unmatched skill.

He then held the boomerang under the blacklight and observed the colors that glowed. Blues and greens, yellows, and reds. The metal was made from a multitude of different minerals, but it could be anything. Fluorite, calcite, gypsum, ruby, talc, opal, agate, quartz, amber… It honestly could be anything under the sun. He would need to perform more extensive tests later.

Lastly, Barry placed the weapon on a cutting board and used a special knife to scrape a few shavings of metal off the very tips of the boomerang. With the hand of a practiced scientist, he used sterilized tweezers to lift the shavings off the cutting board and onto a few slides, applied the cover slips, and then slid one of the glass specimens underneath a microscope. Holding his breath, the forensic scientist peered down through the lens to observe the slide.

At first, what he saw was so unremarkable that he started to question his paranoia regarding the offending metal weapon. Barry saw the sheen of the metal, the expected grating cuts in the shavings from the knife, nothing too special. But then his expert eyes caught something. A little bit of darkness embedded in the metal. It could be a shadow, or just a fault in the metal's consistency.

Or it could be something else.

Barry increased the magnification to its highest setting and navigated the slide to the patch of darkness in the metal shavings. For a while, he stared at it. "Well, now. What's your deal, little guy?" He carefully poked at it with the tweezers. It seemed to move, to twitch a fraction of a fraction of a millimeter. That caught him by surprise, and instantly all of his earlier fears of parasites rose to the surface.

 _Panic solves nothing._ "Take a deep breath, Barry," he reminded himself.

The blonde man took a step back from the microscope and turned to the boomerang on the countertop that continued to gleam brightly despite the darkness of the room, almost like it was glowing. Barry sighed and crossed his arms, frowning in thought. The Rogues wouldn't have - by any stretch of the imagination – expected the Team to fight them last night, since not many people in the world knew that the Team even existed. The four criminals would have been prepared to fight him or Wally. They were crooks native to Central City; engaging speedsters in combat on a regular basis was their specialty. "So if that's the case, then maybe…" Barry mumbled to himself.

He returned his gaze through the lens of the microscope, and then, on a whim, he sped up his perception.

It was a trick he'd picked up over the years, a way to increase his awareness, his thought processes, and all of his senses, but not have any obvious external change in speed. On the outside, no one could tell he was using his powers. The skill was extremely difficult at first and required immense concentration, and Wally was still figuring out how to disconnect the rate of his body from the rate of his mind, so it would be a while before his nephew was comfortable enough in his speed to accomplish the technique.

With his accelerated perception, Barry narrowed his focus on the dark splotch on the metal. The faster his eyes tracked its twitching, the more he felt uneasy. At last, he reached his isolated perception's top speed, and when he could barely track the twitching with his eyes, three facts became clear.

First, this thing, some type of toxin, could vibrate at high speeds. Faster than Wally, faster than Barry, even. Second, this little splotch in the metal was capable of completely destroying speedster cells over time if it was present in large quantities.

Third - as if those two nuggets of knowledge weren't disturbing enough - Barry performed the calculations and observed other parts of the boomerang. The weapon had thin traces of the unknown material all over it, but it seemed like there had been a lot more of it before. If Wally had been hit by the weapon, then his body would have made intensive, invasive contact with the toxin.

Barry slowly repacked the evidence bag with the boomerang and the slides, thinking to himself of the implications. "Stay calm, stay calm, Barry." Part of him knew that his tests he'd performed were only preliminary. He really would need to send them off to the official testing labs for a detailed, definitive verdict. Barry pulled a drawer under the darkroom's countertop open and pulled out a blank form from the stack. He filled it out, stapled it to the evidence bag, and quickly carried it off to the mail room.

Results would be back in five days or less. In the meantime, Barry would keep this quiet. He didn't want to scare Wally unnecessarily unless he had legitimate proof that his sidekick – no, partner – was in danger.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 13:34 CST**

For Hartley Rathaway, Keystone High wasn't that bad of a place to be. It was big, big enough for a loner of a teenager to get lost in the crowd, and it was fairly clean, not terribly run-down as far as public schools go. The teachers, though generally boring-as-all-get-out, were good at their jobs. And best of all…

The music program kicked butt.

Hartley had taken several high school classes over the past two summers to get the credits out of the way, so this year he had room in his schedule for a total of six advanced orchestra, band, and music theory classes every day. When he was reading sheet music and keeping time with the conductors, Hartley truly felt at peace. As cheesy as that sounds. But it was the truth.

He never went anywhere without his flute.

At the moment, he was in the middle of the marching band's routine. Holding his silver flute up high, level with his shoulders, he played the tune with the rest of his section with ease and finesse. He knew this music by heart so well that he allowed his attention to wander over silly little things that popped into his head.

The sky was overcast today; it would probably rain later on in the afternoon.

The culinary classes were having a bake sale this afternoon. Good thing he brought a few quarters for some brownies.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hartley saw a gym class playing football not too far away. It didn't take much effort to spot Wally and his bright red hair among the players, and the guy honestly seemed to be struggling. Not that that was any surprise. Hartley loved the guy, but he had to admit that Wally may have been the least athletic student in the entirety of Keystone High.

Which was weird.

Because Wally  _looked_  like he could have been an athlete; he wasn't big and bulky or tall, but something about the way he walked and the smoothness of all his other movements were similar to those of the guys on the track team. He certainly ate enough for an athlete – Hartley had no clue where all that food went. He had long ago figured that Wally probably had some private medical problem that prevented him from engaging in highly strenuous physical activity at school or something. It was the only explanation.

Across the marching field, he saw the football soar high through the air from Coach Matthew's strong kick, and almost in slow motion, he saw the ball fall down… down… down…

Right smack into Wally's face. Hartley winced in sympathy, and then watched as the guy somehow got his hands, fingers, arms around the ball.

_He caught it._

Apparently Wally was as surprised as anyone, because for a good three seconds, he just stood in place, staring down at the ball in his arms. Even from where Hartley was marching, he could hear the coach practically screaming at the ginger to  _run, get a move on!_  Finally, Wally began to slowly trot in the direction of the touchdown zone.

Well, at least the dude was trying.

Of course, there were also very athletic guys in the gym class with Wally, and they were on him like white on rice. And since this was tackle football, not flag, Wally ended up getting dog-piled, poor guy.

But up from the bottom of the pile, across the football field, to the marching field, to the ears of everyone within a two-hundred-yard radius, rose a scream of agony.

Wally.

Hartley watched anxiously as Coach Matthews ran over and pulled the other guys off of the ginger. Wally was curled into the fetal position, clutching his arm, and…. Was he  _crying_? Maybe it was broken. The coach crouched next to him and prodded at his arm while Wally's face screwed up tightly with pain.

The coach's unsympathetic voice carried. "It's not broken, West. And it's not sprained either. What are you being a baby about? Huh? Get up. Get  _up_. Go walk your sorry self to the nurse's office. Quickly, quickly!" Wally slowly got to his feet, the tears still trickling down his face, which was blushing both with agony and embarrassment. He stumbled a bit; his balance must have been off because of the pain.

As Wally started making his way back to the main building where the nurse's office was located, Coach Matthews called after him, "Maybe while you're there, you can get some ointment that'll make you less of a pansy, West!"

Hartley watched with worry, wondering what was going on with Wally. But needing to stay in sync with his section's movements, he continued with the music on his flute.

Wally was a… quirky guy. While he was generally friendly enough – and had an awesome sense of humor at times – he was a very private person. As far as Hartley knew, he wasn't involved in any clubs or organizations at Keystone High, he didn't work, yet he was always "too busy" to hang out after school. He seemed to constantly need food, and he always looked like he didn't get enough sleep the night before. He was a total genius when it came to any kind of science, yet he didn't even try for other subjects like English or social studies.

And the guy  _always_  wore sleeves. Even in the summer.

But Hartley still considered him a friend. After all, gingers stick together, right?

_Gingers…_

At that thought, he almost faltered in his marching routine. All at once, his assignment came to mind. He'd… he'd been searching the school for a guy just like Wally. Medium height, green eyes, red hair, freckles, pretty athletic…  _a wound on his upper arm…_

He would need to double check, but he was pretty sure he found him. The guy that Cold and the rest of the Rogues wanted him to find.

Hartley Rathaway, better known as the Pied Piper, had just found Kid Flash at Keystone High.


	7. Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his injury from the night before continuing to flare up painfully during the school day, it's all Wally can do to attempt to keep a low profile until the final bell.
> 
> Meanwhile, Hartley Rathaway confirms his suspicions of the secret identity belonging to the city's teen hero, Kid Flash. And he's not the only one approaching the truth…

**7**

**COLLECTION**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 18, 13:41 CST**

After a nearly forty-year career, school nurse Melissa Evans had seen a lot. She had worked with kids who'd broken arms, legs, and noses. She'd helped students who had been stricken with everything from heat stroke to hypothermia. She had splinted hundreds of jammed fingers and sewn thousands of stitches. She'd even performed the Heimlich Maneuver on a fifth grade girl who had somehow managed to halfway-swallow a Hello Kitty pencil sharpener.

She was still a little unclear on how that one even happened in the first place.

The door to her office swung open to reveal a lean boy with striking red hair and distinctive green eyes, currently squinting in pain and grabbing his left arm. He slumped into her office and dropped into a chair with a grunt. "Hi, Nurse Evans," he muttered in a strained voice, his head hung low.

_Not again._

As she rose from her desk, Melissa had to shake her head in amazement. Even four decades of experience had not prepared her for a student quite like Wally West. Sweet mercy, it seemed like that boy was icing bruises, nursing a broken bone, or needing pain relievers every other day of the week. He had long since crossed the line of "accident-prone".

"Wally," she sighed, motioning for him to follow her to the back room where he followed the routine of sitting on the exam table and went through the motions of removing his layers of clothing so she could look at his arm. She stopped him. "Hold on a minute there, young man." She took a seat in her rolling stool and removed her glasses, looking him in the eye.

When he raised his head, Melissa was stunned at the paleness in his face that made his freckles stand out more than usual. His eyes were red around the edges, proof that he'd been crying not too long ago, and his eyebrows were low and drawn together. His pupils were dilated with pain, and his mouth was pursed tightly, turned down slightly at the corners. Instantly, red flags went up in the nurse's head. She was trained to read the level of pain in every patient's face.

In the past few years she had known Wally, she gathered that he had a scarily high pain tolerance. He hardly ever showed a grimace on his face. In fact, on some occasions that he came in with horrible bruising on his jaw or ace bandages wrapped around cracked ribs, Wally was sporting a hearty grin, asking her how her day was, even bringing her brownies – courtesy of his aunt and local news anchor, Iris West-Allen.

The few times that the ginger ever allowed discomfort to show on his face, it was a mere flicker, a half-second of vulnerability, before disappearing again in a bright, easygoing smile. No doubt about it, the teen had _nerves of steel_.

With that in mind, seeing him now, showing complete and total agony in every feature of his face alerted Melissa that something was horribly wrong with him. "What happened, Wally?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his shoulder to relax his muscles, which were tight with spasms of pain.

She watched with concern as he attempted to school his expression towards something a little more neutral. "I… uh…" He stuttered for a moment, before answering, "I cut myself on some broken glass last night, and… and I just need some painkillers, ma'am. Please." He made a frankly pathetic attempt at a smile.

 _Hmm._  Melissa narrowed her eyes. That was the other peculiarity about Wally West's constant injuries. He had some of the strangest excuses for his visits. Apparently, he severely bruised his knuckles when he incidentally punched a cabinet, received a gash on his forehead from smacking his head getting into a car, burned his entire left calf by spilling boiling water on accident, and perhaps the most ridiculous of all, broke his arm in three places by running into a tree. He only got the cast off last week.

"May I see?" she asked, eyebrows raised expectantly. With a nod, Wally took off his outer short-sleeved T-shirt, and then pulled up the side of his long-sleeved shirt, peeling the sleeve off of his left arm with a visible wince. There was an ace bandage wrapped in thick layers, but whatever wound was beneath it was already bleeding through. She washed her hands quickly, pulled on some gloves, and removed the bandage as gently as she could.

Underneath was most likely the  _worst_  stab wound she had ever seen in her life. This included near-fatal wounds to the gut from gang fights in some of the rougher cities in America. But none of that even remotely compared to this. Not only was it incredibly deep, but the skin around it was bright red, and inflamed, and judging by the way Wally jumped when she touched it lightly, extremely painful.

Thankfully, it wasn't bleeding, so at least the body was beginning to try to heal itself. And the wound was jagged, uneven… like the serrated edge of a kitchen knife.

She whistled, "My goodness, you've really done a number on yourself, haven't you?"  _Broken glass, my foot_ , she thought to herself with a concerned scowl. With refined expertise and care, she applied some disinfectant and a fresh dressing. He replaced his undershirt and T-shirt using his good hand, then held the bag of ice she handed him from the freezer against his arm.

Melissa Evans was no fool. She knew the classic signs of child abuse and neglect when she saw them. Many of her students in violent households over the years had exhibited the same clues she saw in Wally. Frequent injuries with unconvincing explanations, getting little sleep at night, missing school often…

Virtually none of the wounds he showed her were fresh; they were clearly from the day or the night before. Wally in particular sometimes came to her for food, even after he just had lunch, which was a hint that maybe he wasn't being fed enough at home.

Last year, when she first met Wally, the thought came to mind almost instantly once she recognized the pattern. For a couple of months, the school quietly worked with social workers to investigate the conditions of the West home; not even his teachers knew about the inquiry. Wally and his parents all insisted that nothing was going on, that he genuinely was just that clumsy.

Surprisingly enough, the investigation came up clean. Nothing of cruel nature was found to take place between Rudolph and Mary West and their teenaged son. For all intents and purposes, they were a peaceful, pleasant family.

While Melissa was glad Wally wasn't a victim of abuse, she still had doubts every time the boy walked into her office seeking help. If not the heavy hand of his parents, and if not bullying at school,  _what on earth was the boy doing that got him into so much trouble?_

Sorting through her musings, she rose to her feet and turned to her cabinet, unlocking it and pulling out drawers of pain meds. "So what are we thinking here, buddy? Advil? Aspirin?"

With a low, hoarse chuckle that did not sound like the perky teen she knew and loved, Wally replied, "Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of morphine? Maybe a horse tranquilizer or anesthetics?" Attempting to make jokes… and failing miserably. Not a good sign for the school's resident comedian.

She sighed quietly and took out the strongest painkiller she had on stock. Handing it to him with water and a few crackers to help him digest the pill, she took her seat again in the rolling chair. "Wally." He looked up as he took a swig of water with the pill. "Wally, you know I have your best interests at heart, right?"

"Sure," he replied readily as he stuffed the saltines in his mouth. "You've always got my back."

"Then you'll answer me honestly when I ask you this:  _are you in trouble at home_?"

Wally's eyes flew wide open and he coughed, nearly choking on his crackers. " _What?_ " he wheezed.

In a cool, calm, even tone of voice, Melissa repeated her question. "Are you in any danger at home?"

After taking a drink of water and clearing his throat, Wally leaned forward and looked at her like she was out of her mind. "You still think my  _parents_  do this?" He shook his head adamantly, his wild hair flying in all directions. "No. No, not even close. Trust me, everything's fine."

"You do know that it's okay to talk to me, right, Wally? Nothing leaves this room."

Wally's head flopped back in exasperation. "Gosh, it's like last year all over again. I thought we were done with all of the abuse accusations."

"I'm not accusing anyone, Wally—"

"Really? 'Cause that's what it sounds like!"

"I just want to make sure that everything's—"

"Why does everyone always assume it's my mom and dad's fault? Why can't you people just accept that I'm a  _klutz_?!"

"Wally, that's—"

He slid off the exam table and stood irritably, throwing his hands in the air. "I mean, is it so hard to believe that maybe, just maybe, it's  _my_  fault that I get hurt? That my parents have  _absolutely nothing_  to do with it?"

"Wally—"

He started quickly pacing the exam room. "Because they  _don't_. They're great parents! I have a great family! We're all fan-freakin'-tastic!"

"Wally…"

"So when you ask me if ' _I'm in trouble at home'_?! No! No, I'm not! My home life is perfect. My mom is perfect. My dad is perfect. It's all on me. It's  _me_  who's the screw-up, who goes out every day and gets into trouble. By choice!"

He froze, breathing hard, his back to Melissa, just staring at the wall. His shoulders

were tense with agitation, and his fingers went to his arm, hovering over the knife wound under the layers of clothing and bandages.

They stayed where they were for a minute, neither one bearing to break the silence. Finally, the sophomore turned to look at Melissa over his shoulder. "I… I mean…" For once, the talkative redhead was at a loss for words.

Melissa placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and looked straight ahead at the opposite wall. She said quietly, "I understand that your family is a sore subject, Wally. I won't push you. You are responsible for your own business, on your own time. That's a power that only you can have, kid. Just know," she looked at him intently, "should you ever need help, ever need someone in your corner, ever need support or assistance? I'm always right here for you. Okay? You can always come to me."

Wally blinked, his forehead creasing into an expression of internal conflict, and he reluctantly opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something. But after a pause, he just glanced off to the side and replied with a shrug, "Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. He looked up at her from where he stood. "Thank you, Nurse Evans."

She gave him a small smile. "Anytime, bucko." He nodded and turned to walk out the door. "Oh, and Wally?"

He turned. "Hmm?"

"Try to stay away from that broken glass from now on, alright kid?"

His smile was genuine now. With a laugh, he answered, "I'll do my best. Bye!" Then he exited the nurse's office, turning to walk to the cafeteria.

Melissa stayed seated on her stool, peeling off the gloves from her hands and tossing them into the waste bin. She stared at the exam table where Wally had been seated a few minutes ago, questions flying through her mind and worries weighing on her heart.

" _What on earth is going on with that boy?"_  she wondered aloud.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 14:01 CST**

Stupid. Stupid, stupid,  _stupid_.

As Wally walked down the corridor towards the cafeteria, he was mentally kicking himself repeatedly. What was  _that_?! He'd literally just told the school nurse that he "went out every day and got in trouble… by _choice_ ". Now she'd either figure out he was Kid Flash, or she'd think he was getting in  _gang fights_  every day after school!

But their conversation had hit a nerve. Wally frowned at the thought of the social services' investigation of his parents last year. It was true, none of his injuries were ever from his mom and dad. They would  _never_  do that to him! The thought that they would was appalling. And to think that they had to be questioned and interviewed constantly for months because of his crime fighting? It definitely strained their relationship for a while afterwards. Things were only just now getting back to normal.

So Wally felt he had to nip any suspicions in the bud. He just hoped Nurse Evans wouldn't look further into what he really was doing that got him in these situations. She was very smart and very practical. But… she was also pretty trustworthy. She kept the investigation a secret from the rest of Wally's classmates and the faculty, except for the principal. She could keep secrets. So for a split second there, Wally was almost tempted to share his secret identity with the nurse.

But then lines from all of the training and the paperwork and the forms Uncle Barry walked him through when he first officially became a hero for justice years ago came to mind. No one,  _absolutely_   _no one_ , outside of the League and associated heroes, and the few accepted civilians given clearance, were ever supposed to know a hero's secret ID. That was rule number one, drilled into his head for good. So… Wally stayed quiet.

After picking his way through a disappointing lunch (disgusting mystery meat-slush, his favorite!), Wally's morale dropped from bad to dismal. He wasn't at all in the mood to sit through another current events discussion in social studies, which naturally turned to speculation about Kid Flash's daring duel against the city's crime gallery last night.

Mai Li, ever concerned for the superheroes' welfare, was the first to bring up Kid Flash's supposed injury following the fight. Pinning the newspaper article to the corkboard at the front of Mr. Cudjo's classroom, she explained, "He told the press it was 'just a scratch'. But that makes me wonder if maybe there's always something more sinister at work whenever a hero says stuff like that."

Oh great. The  _occupational hazard_  discussion again. Like they haven't already talked about this like a million times this semester.

Right on cue, Raymond Martinez was quick to counter Mai's claim. Those two always dominated these debates. "Well maybe it actually was just a scratch? He's a superhero. He's not bound to let something that trivial slow him down, so to speak, am I right?"

Mai Li spun around, eyebrows furrowed. "Just because the Flashes are metahumans and can heal fast doesn't mean that they're invincible. They feel pain. And Kid Flash is, in fact, just a kid." She gestured wildly to the news article on the board. "He's not Superman. My mom's a doctor, and she says that a wound in that spot on his arm could be pretty serious, especially if it hit an artery or something. Wherever he is right now, he's probably hurting."

 _You got that right._ Wally resisted the urge to rub his arm right then. The pain meds Nurse Evans had given him were working, but his body was already breaking them down as fast as they took effect. One of the many  _joys_  of a fast metabolism.

"So what?" Raymond retorted. "Heroes know what they're signing up for. Are we supposed to pity them every time they get a bit… dinged up?"

"No," Mai admitted, "but we should keep it in mind. Kid Flash is unique because he's a metahuman and a minor, and yet he still brushes off injuries like this. He's just like you, like me, like all of us in this room. Consider the fact that he lives somewhere here in Central City, where he chooses to put on a uniform and patrol the streets night after night. Then he takes off the uniform and walks among us, unnoticed, unseen, uncared for. Injured and invisible. Kid Flash is probably in high school, so he could be at Central City High, or he could be a student right here at Keystone." Mai Li smiled a little, "For all we know, we might even  _know_ him."

Well.

 _Crap_.

This was getting  _way_  too close for comfort. Not good. Not good, not good,  _not_   _good!_

In the back of the room, Wally slouched further in his seat, if that was even possible. His eyes glared at the clock, urging the seconds to tick by faster.  _Just need the final bell to ring… Just ring already!_

Mai Li, on the other hand, was on a roll. "Kid Flash could be taking the same classes, eating the same cafeteria food, taking the same  _tests_  as us! Who knows? Some of us could be having gym class with a superhero!"

This got the rest of the class, even Raymond, murmuring. Wally heard the whispers: "You know, if we really tried, I bet we could figure out if Kid Flash really does go here. We could even discover his secret identity." Mr. Cudjo, the social studies teacher, thoughtfully studied the picture of Kid Flash in front of the Flash museum that graced the front page of the _Central City Citizen_.

 _They would connect the dots._  Honestly, how many short-haired, green-eyed, scrawny gingers were there in this school?

This was a nightmare.

A.

Complete.

And.

Utter.

 _Nightmare_.

Where was the final bell when you needed it?!

"In fact," Mai Li gasped suddenly, her back to the rest of the class as she looked at the picture in the article. The class, intrigued, quieted down quickly. "Kid Flash… might even be  _sitting in this very room._ " She turned around slowly, eyes widening and she looked straight at Wally in the back.

The rest of the class spun around in their seats, staring at him.

Crap.

_Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap._

Crap to the infinite of infinite infinities.

_Think fast._

In a last-ditch effort to divert suspicion, Wally managed to avoid a deer-in-headlights expression, and instead gave a nonchalant and muttered, "Well, don't look at me."

Then, a harsh cackle filled the silence. Josh Nogra. "Ha! Yeah, what are we thinking? Slow-as-freaking-molasses  _West_? The  _Fastest-Kid-Alive_? You've gotta be kidding!"

There was a pause, and then the class erupted in fits of giggles and laughter. "Oh yeah, what are we thinking?" "Wally West, a  _superhero_? Not a chance!" "Not even remotely possible!"

Even Mai Li shook her head, laughing out loud. "No way. Yeah, Kid Flash probably goes to Central City High instead. Heck, maybe he's homeschooled! We may never know!"

Mr. Cudjo called the class to order. "Now, now, settle down everyone." Eventually, the students quieted down once more and began to pack up for the end of the day. The bell rang, the students filed out of the school, and when he was finally putting distance between himself and Keystone High, Wally breathed a silent sigh of relief.

That went down in the record books as the closest call in all of history. And he never thought the day would come when he would actually be  _thankful_  for Josh Nogra's hatred towards him. With a smirk, Wally started jogging towards the nearest Zeta tube.

It was time to pay Dick a visit out in Gotham.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 15:30 CST**

When the final bell rang, Hartley Rathaway packed up his flute in its case and left the orchestra room. He was eager to get home and get some real food, not that atrocious meat-slushie slop the cafeteria served today. Honestly, did they think humans were capable of digesting that crap?  _Please._

However, there was one stop the musician needed to make before his day was done. He strolled through the door to the nurse's office. "Hi, Nurse Evans!"

"Hartley! What's up?" The nurse looked up from her computer with a smile.

"I was just going to ask… Is Wally okay? I saw him today when he was in gym, and he looked like he was… I don't know, in pain or something?" Hartley put on his best innocent, concerned friend face.

"Well, Hartley, you know I can't give you details. Confidentiality and all of that."

"Right, right. I mean... Right, I get it. Policy, rules. It's just…" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Really, I'm just concerned, you know? He's kind of been out of it all day… What's wrong with him? I'm his best friend… I feel like I should be there for him if he needs help." In all honesty, that last part was a stretch – Hartley and Wally weren't extremely close by any stretch of the imagination, but it was good enough.

Nurse Evans smiled sympathetically at him. "Oh, Hartley, you don't need to worry about him. He just came in because of a little cut on his left arm, that's all. I changed his bandage, gave him some medication. That's it. No need for concern. But it's nice that you care, though." Her smile fell. "The boy needs  _someone_  at his side."

Hartley nodded, heart sinking several levels at the information. A cut on his left arm. Check. "Right, thanks Nurse Evans. I'll keep an eye on him." He left the office and started heading down the hall.

Behind him, he could hear Nurse Evans locking up her office for the day before walking down a few doors to Mr. Cudjo's room. On a whim, Hartley turned back and slid along the wall silently, stopping just outside the door to the social studies teacher's classroom.

One of the Pied Piper's many gifts was enhanced hearing, and he was able to pick up every word of conversation between the two faculty members.

"Hi, Tim," Nurse Evans greeted Mr. Cudjo. First-name basis. Were they…  _together_?

"Missy! How'd your day go, sis?" ' _Sis'_? Hehe okay, so  _not_  together, then.  _Siblings_. "Cudjo" must have been Nurse Evans's maiden name or something.

"Oh, the usual, for the most part. Simon Bell had a fever, so I sent him home. We don't want another flu outbreak that knocks half the student body out for weeks, after all." Nurse Evans hummed under her breath. "Though, there was one student, Wally West... He's in your last period, isn't he?"

"That's right. In fact, his name came up today in the class discussion. The kids were talking about how Kid Flash could very well secretly be a student here at Keystone High. And naturally, the boy has red hair and green eyes, so you can see where conversation went from there. The kids quickly debunked that, though. I almost felt sorry for the kid, the way they all dismissed him so quickly."

"Yes, Wally is quite the character." Nurse Evans's voice dropped to a whisper, but Hartley could still catch every word. "Today, he came into my office with a stab wound in his arm. A  _stab_   _wound_ , Tim, to a kid in Central City! I haven't seen one of those since I worked in  _Blüdhaven!_ "

"Wow. Is he okay?"

"Yes, I think he'll be fine. Fortunately, he's always able to recover pretty fast. Bounces back, never lets anything hold him back."

Mr. Cudjo sighed in relief. "Good. That's good." There was a pause, and Hartley imagined they were lost in thought for a moment. Then, Mr. Cudjo spoke up. "This stab wound… It was in his arm, you say?"

"Right…"

Hartley heard footsteps, and the hard jab of a finger against paper. Sliding along the bottom of the door, he risked a peek up through the window into the classroom. The man inside was pointing at newspaper clipping tacked to the current events wall. It was an article on last night's fight at the Flash Museum, with the headline "Flashboy Foils Foes at Museum – Rogues in Transit to Arkham". Above the article was a giant black-and-white photograph of Kid Flash, smiling and talking to the reporters.

But even in the grayscale of the picture, the cut on his arm was extremely visible, a dark, vertical line against the bright light tone of the hero's suit. This was where Mr. Cudjo was pointing.

Hartley watched as Nurse Evans approached the article to see what her brother was pointing to. She gasped, her hands covering her mouth, eyes widening. "Are… are you considering…"

Mr. Cudjo rubbed the top of his bald head in amazement. "Either it's the world's biggest coincidence, or…" The two faculty members exchanged a glance and returned their eyes to the article.

That was all Hartley needed to hear.

Without wasting any more time, he ducked away from the window again, walked down the hallway, and came to his locker. He retrieved his sheet music binders and notebooks and stuffed them down into his bag. Then he froze and angrily slammed the small metal door hard and slid down the locker, landing on his rear on the floor, his backpack fallen at his side.

Burying his head in his hands, Hartley groaned and cursed in a bitter whisper.  _Of course_. Of course, it would be Wally West. Of all the stupid kids in this stupid school, Wally, the one guy Hartley considered a friend, was his target. His prey.

He knew he had to report to the Rogues that he found Kid Flash and their plan was working like a charm. He knew his job. He  _knew_. Too much was riding on it. And he would go find them and deliver the intel to Trickster, soon as he got home, did his homework, and changed into his uniform.

And yet, a small part of him, deep down, regretted that any of this had happened.

Why  _Wally_?

* * *

 **GOTHAM CITY  
** **November 18, 16:37 EST**

Getting off the Zeta tube in Gotham City always felt just a bit  _wrong_. The change in air quality from crisp, clean Central City to smog-coated, smoke-filled, sewage-tainted Gotham made Wally want to gag every time he came. The Zeta tubes were tucked away in the City of Corruption's darkest, most secluded back alleys, where some of Gotham's finest (worst) citizens roamed the streets.

(The Batcave had Zeta tubes in it, but Bats was pretty stingy when it came to letting other people teleport straight into his secret layer. Security risk. So he had his Zeta tubes specifically coded against intruders.)

Wally always had to stay hyper-alert when he came here. "Gotham is  _nothing_  like Central City," Uncle Barry always reminded him. "No one's going to look out for you there, kid. No one's watching your back, even though you're just a teenager. You've got to keep your eyes open everywhere, walk fast, and stick to bright areas when you can."

As a matter of fact, Wally hadn't even been allowed to come to Gotham alone until a couple years ago. Usually, Uncle Barry would accompany him there and walk with him until they got to Wayne Manor. They always walked, since not even the taxis were known to be safe. Hijackings, kidnappings, wrecks… It was almost always best to travel on foot through Gotham.

(Unless of course, you were a certain multi-billionaire and owned a freaking Batmobile that was bulletproof and could probably run over a  _tank_.)

By now, though, Wally was comfortable enough with the city to reach Wayne Manor without incident. He walked up the steps to the front doors of the massive mansion (read:  _fortress_ ) and pressed the button. The light on the intercom came on. "Hi, Alfred, it's me. Can I come in?"

Through the speaker, Alfred's voice came out, sounding tinny but very British and very proper. "Right away, Master Wallace. One moment, please." Alfred was the only person on the planet who Wally felt okay about calling him by his full name. It wasn't mocking, it wasn't biting, and it definitely wasn't bossy. It was simply proper, and Wally respected that and the Wayne Manor attendant.

As he waited for the butler to come, he looked up at the towering doors of the Manor. With a smile, Wally remembered the first time Uncle Barry brought him here to meet the famous celebrity Bruce Wayne and his ward, Richard Grayson. Wally had stood before these very doors, staring up at their massiveness and feeling very, very  _small_. Only a few months into having his powers, he was a brand-new sidekick in a world of towering giants, invincible aliens, and larger-than-life powerhouses, and his insignificance was only magnified by the size of the Wayne Manor doors.

It was when those doors had finally opened, revealing Alfred, Bruce, and a very mischievous-looking young Dick, that Wally realized the giants he looked up to were really ordinary people, just like him. He and Dick hit it off right away, and the rest was history.

At last, Alfred opened the door, nodding in greeting to Wally. "Good afternoon, Master Wallace. Please, do come in."

"Hi, Alfred. Is Dick home?" Wally strolled into the foyer (lined with gold-and-crystal statues and Fabergé eggs) and made his way towards the staircase out of force of habit.

Alfred followed, replying, "Indeed. Master Richard informed me that you would be coming over this afternoon, so I took the liberty of preparing a few batches of cookies."

"Really?! You rock, Alfred!" Instantly, Wally's mood skyrocketed. Just the  _thought_  of those cookies… Seriously, you haven't lived until you had one of them. They're  _life-changing_.

With a little more pep in his step, Wally jogged up the three flights of stairs with ease, walking down the hallway toward Dick's room. "Yo, dude. You in here?" Wally looked around, but his black-haired best friend was nowhere in sight. Nor was he in the game room, the guest room, or the bathroom (one had to be thorough, after all).

Finally, he came to the gym. Yeah, Wayne Manor had its own  _full-sized_ _private gym_ , for Pete's sake. Wally got over his jealousy years ago. Now he's just glad to have a best friend who lets him use his stuff all the time.

(Ever seen a speedster on a Batman-funded treadmill? It's quite the sight to behold, and Dick always swears he's going to make the video go viral on YouTube someday.)

"Hey, Dick? You here?" he called into the workout room. The few windows shed thin rectangles of light into the darkness of the room, giving it a slightly creepy feel. Ominous, which wasn't exactly surprising, considering the man who owned this estate.

Wally crept forward cautiously. "Dick?"  _Something wasn't right…_  His senses were alert. He pulled off his backpack and kicked it against the wall.

Suddenly, from above, a shadowed figure dropped down behind him. Wally felt the vibrations in the floorboards and instinctively ducked, springing backwards while spinning around to face his attacker.

The assailant was careful to keep to the shadows, avoiding the few beams of natural light in the room, hiding behind the exercise equipment. Slowly, they circled the room, eyeing each other. Wally darted out, charging towards the figure at high speeds. The foe leaped up, grabbing ahold of the pull-up bar and swinging themselves over Wally's head, then landed in a crouch and swung their leg in a low arc, attempting to sweep Wally's feet out from under him.

Wally was ready, though. He used the momentum of his lunge to propel him forward, using a treadmill to springboard off and spin away from the figure. Landing in a headstand on his palms, Wally pushed off into a handspring, narrowly dodging the swinging fists and feet of his opponent.

They continued on like this for a while, dodging and leaping and aiming punches and kicks, neither gaining the upper hand.

Finally, the shadowed figure leaped up to grab the gymnastics high bars and used them to generate speed, sending him flying high up into the air. He disappeared in the pitch-black shadows of the rafters above, and then dropped without warning, tackling Wally to the ground hard.

Pinned.

A high-pitched cackle filled the air.

"Gotcha!" Dick smirked as he climbed off of Wally, careful to avoid pushing unnecessarily on his arm.

He put out his hand to help him up, and Wally shook his head at the guy with a frustrated smirk. "Hi there, Dick."

Leading the way out of the workout room to his bedroom, Dick asked tauntingly. "So where does that put us, tally-wise? Something like me  _winning_ , eighty-six to sixty-one?"

"Dude, shut up," Wally laughed, playfully shoving the shorter boy in the shoulder. "This is your home turf. You always have the element of surprise on your side. How am I supposed to keep up with that?"

Dick pushed the door to his bedroom open, raising one eyebrow and scoffing. "I don't know. You tell me, Mr.  _Fastest-Kid-Alive_."

Wally flopped on his best friend's bed with a groan, dropping his backpack to the floor with a thump. "Speed means nothing if there's a freaking elliptical bike in my way. Not interested in breaking my toes running into your stuff, dude."

"Yeah yeah yeah. Excuses, excuses." Dick gave Wally a big grin, and Wally appreciated getting to look his friend in the eye instead of having to face a mask or those goofy shades he has to wear around in public. _Stupid Batman with his stupid secret identity policy_. The rest of the Team didn't get the chance to see how Dick's bright blue eyes can light up with humor or stare right through you, see your soul. Only Wally was afforded that privilege, and he treasured it.

Not to mention, Robin's sporting sunglasses indoors gave off the impression of a conceited douchebag, as Wally so kindly pointed out early on.

Dick picked something up from his desk, turned around and throwing it at Wally on the bed. Wally yelped and yanked it off his face, then looked at it more closely. It was the article from the  _Citizen_ , the one the class was discussing today. How Dick managed to get a copy way out here in Gotham was a mystery. But then, what wasn't a mystery when it came to the Dynamic Duo?

"So," Dick said, looking down at the floor. "Looks like you made the papers. Uh… Your arm feeling a little more asterous since this morning?"

Wally could hear the uneasy tone in his best friend's voice. "A little. Not much. Getting dogpiled in gym today didn't help, that's for sure." Wally skimmed the article, noting the hints that there were other young heroes with him that night, but no one had conclusive proof. "At least the Team's pretty much in the clear. That's good, right?" He looked up to exchange glances with Dick. Neither of them said out loud what they were thinking.

Keeping the Team's existence and activities covert was getting harder and harder, now that they were building up a solid domestic  _and_  international presence.

There was a knocking on the open door to Dick's bedroom, and in walked Alfred, carrying a tray loaded high with steaming-hot chocolate chip cookies. "Your snack, Masters Richard and Wallace." He set it carefully on a nearby table.

Dick asked the butler, "When's Bruce coming home?"

"Shortly, Master Richard. It should be no longer than twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thanks, Alfred."

"It is my pleasure. And, may I request that the two of you please refrain from breaking a window or setting one of the pieces of furniture on fire? Master Bruce plans to have a meeting tomorrow morning with several of the top businessmen and businesswomen in Gotham City, and he would very much appreciate a lack of scorch marks on the lounge seats in the parlor, if you gentlemen wouldn't mind."

Wally laughed. "We'll try to avoid a repeat of last month, Alfred. Promise."

"Thank you, Master Wallace. I will inform Master Bruce that you are both upstairs upon his arrival." Alfred left the room and descended down the stairs.

Wally was already diving into the fresh cookies, moaning at the taste of manna from heaven. "Dick, you have no idea how much I envy you right now. You get to eat this stuff  _every_   _day_." He swallowed, and mumbled cynically, "Wish he'd share the recipe with Aunt Iris. Stingy guy."

Dick only cackled, taking a couple for himself before Wally could devour them all on his own. With a gleam in his eyes, he challenged, "Call of Duty?"

Wally grinned. "You know it."

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, there was another knock on the door to Dick's room. They hit pause as their characters were in the midst of a shot and turned to see the one and only Bruce Wayne standing in the doorway. "You two doing okay in here?" The tall man leaned against the door, dressed in his classic business suit and tie.

Dick, seated with his back against the foot of the bed, snorted, gesturing with his controller at Wally, who was laying on his stomach in front of the TV. "I'm cool, but Kid  _Sausage-Thumbs_  over here is getting his royal butt whooped."

"Shut up, dude," Wally retorted, exasperated. "You're such a  _hack_. I swear you're cheating. You probably found all the cheat codes ever invented, and then invented some more."

"Excuses…" Dick teased in a sing-song voice.

"Seriously! There's no way you're able to shoot  _five weapons_  at once! You only have  _two hands_! I mean,  _come_   _on!_ "

Bruce laughed quietly at their banter. "Well, I'll leave you boys to it, then. Would you like to stay for dinner, Wally? I already called your parents; they're fine with it."

Wally grinned up at the billionaire. "Thanks, Bruce!" He nodded in gratitude as the man left the way he came.

That was the weird part of this whole secret-identity arrangement. When the three of them – Wally, Dick, and Bruce – were in uniform, Batman was the  _scariest_  thing on two legs you will ever meet, even in your worst nightmares. He made criminals  _wet_  themselves in fear, for crying out loud! Batman's greatest weapons were intimidation and scare tactics, and admittedly, they worked on Wally, too. That's just the way it was.

But  _Bruce Wayne_  was another species of human altogether. He was very relaxed, super laid back. Straightforward, sometimes a bit blunt, sure. But the man had a sense of humor. He made you feel at home. So Wally never felt awkward when he came over to hang out with his son-ward-mentee-kid-dude-whatever. Heck, he was on a  _first-name basis_  with Bruce, that's how chill the dude was.

Funny how a guy can have two completely different personalities, huh?

As they resumed their game, Dick gave a heads-up. "By the way, I texted Bruce earlier that you wanted him to take a look at your arm. He said he'd check it out after dinner."

"That's fine," Wally replied, and then looked in horror as his character died onscreen. Dick had freaking  _distracted_  him. "No no no! Shoot! Shoot! Dang it!"

"Ha! Loser!"

"Aw, shut up, man."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 17:15 CST**

In the email inbox of every Keystone High faculty member, a mass memo appeared that afternoon.

**From: "Tish Hasbrouck"**

**To: Email List Suppressed (undisclosed recipients)**

**Subject: Faculty Meeting Tomorrow**

Hello Keystone High faculty and staff,

As you all know, we will be meeting tomorrow morning in the lecture hall at 7:30am to discuss the upcoming events for December, as well as other important items of business.

I would like to request we add one more meeting item to our agenda, regarding a certain student in the sophomore class: Wallace Rudolph West. I've spoken with many of you about this student, and I don't just speak for myself when I say we have found some issues with him. I feel that we should have a candid discussion on his performance and his relations with the other students and the faculty here at Keystone High. We aim for an environment conducive to learning and growth for the student body as a whole, and we should address whether Mr. West is obstructing that ideal environment.

I look forward to our discussion on this topic tomorrow.

Tish Hasbrouck

Chemistry Department Head

Keystone High School, Central City

* * *

 **GOTHAM CITY  
** **November 18, 19:07 EST**

After a fantastic dinner, courtesy of Alfred (among other things, they were served a killer lobster bisque and high-quality filet mignon) and dessert (the man actually pulled out a  _blowtorch_  from the Wayne Manor pantry and made crème brûlée from scratch), Wally and Dick walked to the back corridor of Wayne Manor.

Dick entered the passcode on the panel in the wall while Wally turned away so he couldn't see. (There were  _some_  limits to how much he could know, after all.) The bricks slid away to reveal the titanium elevator doors that would take them down to the Batcave.

Of course, actually getting  _into_  the Batcave took about five minutes, thanks to the multiple levels of security barriers between the Manor and the underground lair. Wally always got a little bit twitchy when his claustrophobia kicked in around security barrier number twenty-one, but he felt better since Dick was right there next to him the whole time.

At last, the two strolled into the Batcave. Every time he saw the secret hideout of the world-famous (or maybe infamous) Batman and Robin, Wally got chills. It took years for him to convince Dick to let him into the place, and he never got over how…  _batty_  everything was.

Batmobile, Batcomputer, heck, even a  _Batfridge_. It came off as more than a little… obsessive.

Bruce was already down there, dressed in a nondescript grey T-shirt and black pants, basic casual attire. He was using a neon blue holographic screen like the one in the Cave, calibrating a large machine that Wally recognized as a unique combination of an MRI, CT scanner, and electron microscope. It was the only one of its kind in the world. Wally forgot its official name, so he just called it the Batscanner. "Come over here, Wally. You'll want to remove your shirts."

Wally approached the Batscanner, dumping his backpack in the corner, and then carefully pulled his long- and short-sleeved shirts over his head and tossed them to Dick, who threw them on a nearby counter. A feeling of trepidation tickling his sternum, he lay down on the exam table, extending his arm away from the side of his body. Bruce positioned the machine to focus on Wally's entire left arm, from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder and collarbone.

It was over in fifteen seconds, totally painless. The machine flashed bright white light, then red, then blue, down over Wally's arm. As the Batscanner prepared the image to display on the nearby computer monitor, Dick threw Wally's clothes back to him.

After a minute, the three of them stood around the monitor, Bruce navigating the images with practiced ease. He focused in on the knife wound. "Body temperature's elevated in the wound tissue and surrounding area. High white blood cell count, so there must be some sort of infection or reaction." He expanded the image to a higher magnification.

Wally froze. He pointed at a speck on the screen. "Wait. What's that?" Bruce increased the magnification to its highest setting, focusing on the black dot amidst the layers of reds, yellows, and blues. "Is that…" Wally narrowed his eyes. "Is it a… a bug or something?"

Dick's eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Do you think part of the boomerang broke off when it hit you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No," he said simply. "But it is a foreign material. And," he checked the phone in his pocket. "Judging from Barry's message to me this morning, it's likely present in large quantities in your arm, triggering your body's immune response. It could be a parasite, or it could be a toxin. I'm leaning towards the latter. It's affecting your body's ability to heal itself in that area, which means it's able to counteract your metabolism and the speed of your cells."

Wally gulped. Well, this wasn't very "asterous" at all, was it? "Wait, Uncle Barry contacted you? Do we have any idea what it is? Is it going to spread?" He didn't like the sound of panic coming out in his voice.  _Chill out, Wall-man. Don't freak out_.

"Unlikely. The substance is stationary, for the most part. If it is spreading, it's moving at so slow a pace that Barry and I will be able to find a solution long before it turns serious."

"Um… and how long will that take?" Dick asked. "Can Wally still go on missions?"

"I'm sure that would be fine. It is up to Barry of course, since he is your mentor. But I have a feeling that it won't negatively impact your ability to run and fight. You are right-handed, after all. Just be careful not to injure it further; take the same precautions like you did when you recently had a broken arm. Barry says that the conclusive lab results should be back in no more than five days."

As Wally gingerly rubbed his arm and frowned, Bruce saved the images in a private file reserved for Kid Flash on the hero database.

Every superhero and sidekick/partner in the world was welcome to keep a file on the database that could be accessed in cases of emergencies by certain leaders in the hero community. That included the Justice League founding members, like Batman and the Flash. The database system was far more accurate than the medical records released to hospitals and physicians, since some heroes preferred to keep their injuries hidden from the public eye, for security reasons.

When Wally was in the Cave's med bay after the fight with the Injustice League, the whole Team got a glimpse of his official file in the database. "Geez, Baywatch," Artemis had marveled. "Your history is way longer than mine. Like, longer than all of ours' put together. What do you do all day, swim in fire and sleep in nails or something?"

"Shut up," he had groaned as Black Canary set his bones straight. "So I take a lot of hits, so what? Pretty sure a good five percent of the items on that list are hits I took for  _you_ , Artemis. In fact, you  _owe_  me. Maybe you should watch your own back, huh?"

"Oh  _please_ , like I haven't been covering your sorry butt since  _before_  day one!"

And more bickering ensued that made Black Canary roll her eyes as she finished putting on Wally's cast.

He had to admit, though. Squabbling with the blonde archer did take his mind off the pain at the time.

Back to the present, Wally ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Well, this is just wonderful. Mysterious infection. That's… great. That's just great. Um… yep." There was a twinge of discomfort in his arm, leading him to ask Bruce, "Any chance you can give me some of those special speedster meds that would actually make a dent on the pain, Bruce? I think Uncle Barry ran out."

Bruce nodded, walking over to a filing cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pills. "You can take the whole bottle with you."

"Thanks." Wally turned and gave Dick a brofist. "Hey, you want to stay over at Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris's house for the weekend? I'll try to drag Roy into it, too. It's been  _ages_  since the three of us have hung out."

"Sure! Can I, Bruce?" Dick looked hopefully at his guardian and mentor.

Crossing his arms with the hint of a smile, Bruce answered, "Fine by me. As long as you finish your homework ahead of time."

"Sweet!" Wally and Dick said in unison. Wally grinned, then checked his watch. It was getting pretty late.

"I think I'll head home now. Thanks for checking it out, Bruce. Can I just exit through the hangar?"

Dick scoffed. "You're going to run home? Gotham does have Zeta tubes, and I'm sure Bruce would even let you use the ones right here in the Batcave, just this once."

Wally shook his head, grinning. "Nah. After the day I've been having… gotta burn off some steam. And it's dark out, no one's gonna see me. So, can I?"

In response, Bruce pressed a button on the wall with a black bat on it (surprise, surprise), and the three-feet-thick solid steel doors at the far end of the hangar behind the Batwing and the Batmobile slid up, letting the freezing Gotham night air and a few snow flurries sweeping into the Batcave.

Undaunted by the cold, especially since his run cross-country to deliver Queen Perdita's heart not too long ago, Wally readjusted the laces on his sneakers. (A necessary precaution. He had an unfortunate tendency to trip over his laces and skid halfway across Indianapolis every time he made the thousand-mile-run from Gotham City, NJ to Central City, MI.) Then he pulled out his goggles before swinging his backpack over his shoulders.

Once the goggles were over his eyes, he felt that rush of adrenaline, his body ready to get some speed. "See you tomorrow, Dick. Bye Bruce!" Then with a few running steps, he was off.

It wasn't until he had zoomed past Columbus, Ohio that he started to notice something funny. Ever since he broke the sound barrier several hundred miles back near Pittsburg, his arm had felt really tingly, no…  _achy_. It eased up when he slowed down, but the closer he got to his top speed, the more the muscles in his arm hurt.

Wally dry-swallowed one of the pills Bruce gave him, and the pain went away quickly. But he knew the meds were just masking the problem, not solving it.

He had faith that Uncle Barry and Bruce would figure this out, though. So he continued running, enjoying the rush of icy air in his lungs.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 23:47 CST**

Slinking down a few rarely-used back alleys and side streets, the Pied Piper warily made his way through the shadows towards his target destination, mentally preparing his words. What he said in a few minutes would be crucial, not only to the Rogue's mission, but to his own… and the sake of a certain canary-yellow teenaged speedster. With the people he was dealing with these days, the Piper couldn't imagine how things would turn out well for  _everyone_ involved, and that bothered him.

The Central City Rogues, known in both the hero and villain community as the "Crime Group with Standards". Though they regularly pulled heists and committed felonies, they still loved their city along with the rest of the citizens of Central City.

This was the reason behind the "no-killing rule" that so many other crime circles around the world scoffed at. The people of Central City were the Rogues' family, friends, and colleagues by daylight, so they were careful not to cause them too much harm.

Common courtesy. That's all.

The Pied Piper strode down the side street leading to an alley that ran adjacent to the rear of the CCPD Headquarters – Prison Segment. Checking to make sure no one was watching, he leaped up to grasp ahold of the railing along the building, and in an impressive feat of strength and agility, flipped over a ledge to land silently inside the isolated holding ward of the prison.

Only four inmates were kept here, just like the night before. "Well, well, well. Still caged, I see?" he smirked, rising and approaching the center of the room so all five criminals could see and converse.

"Piper," Cold nodded in acknowledgement. "We've been expecting you. What did you find out?"

Hartley took a deep breath.  _This was it._  "I've… I've found him. I found Kid Flash."

Captain Boomerang grinned. "And?" he prodded expectantly. "How's the arm?"

"It's healing slowly, just like you want. It's giving him some trouble. He made a trip to the nurse's office for some pain medication."

Mirror Master leaned causally against the bars of his cell. "So who is he? What's his name?"

The big question.

Hartley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How far was he willing to go for this? Did he want to cross the line?

Finally, he replied, "His name… doesn't matter. All that matters is that your plan is working. I'll continue to monitor him for now. Trickster, you contact me when you four are ready for the next stage in a few weeks."

Hartley could tell that Trickster noticed he was holding back, but the clown didn't say anything. He just nodded and smiled. "Sure thing, Pipey!"

Cold cleared his throat. "There's a strong possibility that we may use another method of contact to reach you, Piper. We get shipped out to Arkham very soon, and the plan will be put into play. Because of our… strategy, if you don't hear from this buffoon, you'll hear from someone of… significant interest… to your goals. Keep your eyes open."

Piper raised his eyebrows – not that any of the Rogues could see, hidden as he was under his green hood.  _Significant interest? Intriguing.w_  "They always are."

Turning away from the cells of his employers and feeling Cold's icy gaze at the back of his neck, Hartley sighed before slipping back through the open window and walking out to the alley.

_How long could he keep this up?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, and in the past few months, I've tried to put a lot of thought in this chapter and the future storyline, so there's that. I think in the future, I'll keep doing what I've been doing: write the outline, write the story, edit and publish. Some chapters will be shorter, some will be longer, and some will be enormous, that's just the way it is. :)
> 
> So, a few notes about what goes on in this chapter:
> 
> I know that in the comics, Wally was verbally/emotionally abused by his father, but not necessarily physically. And from what I can see in the show, Wally loves his parents, and they have a pretty good relationship, so I wanted to bring that out. I see so many stories of Wally being physically abused, and while those have great depth and complexity, I personally try to stick to canon as much as possible, so I decided to give him a pretty good home life like in the show.
> 
> I thought it would be fun for Wally's classmates to almost make the connection between him and Kid Flash, and then have it be "debunked" just as quickly.
> 
> And I do love Hartley Rathaway. I'm glad he's getting a positive response. I want this kid to have morals, to have regrets and inner turmoil about what he's doing to Wally. He's a human, teenaged kid, after all, with few friends. I feel sorry for him, to be honest. He'll be a key player in the future, you can count on that.
> 
> As for Wally hanging out with Dick at Wayne Manor, I've always imagined the two of them having impromptu sparring sessions and goofing off, sneaking around and getting into trouble, Dick cheating at video games. They're pranksters, after all.
> 
> Though I know nothing about Call of Duty, so everything here was, once again, research.
> 
> (Man, I love research! In fact, anything you see in any of the chapters of this story that seem oddly specific or have any numbers involved? I probably found that out through Google and the Young Justice wiki.)
> 
> And I liked the idea of Bruce Wayne being a pretty relaxed guy, instead of having to keep up the Batman-esque persona twenty-four-seven. He seems pretty cool in the few parts of the show where we get to see him in civvies.
> 
> *** Most of all, for the date in the email about the faculty meeting, that's the first step I'm taking to give this story a time-setting in the actual Young Justice official timeline found on their wiki. So if you want to keep up with this for fun, here's when everything up to this point is set:
> 
> -Wally got his cast off before the events of "Coldhearted" in the show, around his birthday on Thursday, November 11, 2010.
> 
> -This story begins place the week after that, with the mission against the Rogues on Wednesday, November 17, 2010 and the day afterward on Thursday, November 18, 2010.
> 
> -The next chapter, with the faculty meeting, will take place on Friday, November 19, 2010.


	8. (Re)collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The monthly assembly of all Keystone High faculty and staff is the perfect time and place to review the past month, schedule plans for the future, and most importantly, bring up important issues that have cropped up recently.
> 
> Thus, the faculty meeting is the prime platform for discussing students – namely, a certain redhead we all know…

**8**

**(RE)COLLECTION**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 19, 6:30 CST**

There is no one on earth more excited to see the sunrise of a Friday morning than William Donner, principal of Keystone High School in Central City.

His wife pulled open the blinds and cracked open the window, flooding the room with the muted light of dawn, the frosty November breeze, and even the quiet chirping of songbirds. She turned around and smiled at him. "Morning, honey." Even with tremendous bedhead, his wife always looked stunning.

Will returned the smile as he rolled out of bed and started to get dressed for the day. Fridays were always a treat to look forward to. The week was almost over, the students were in high spirits, and so were the faculty for that matter, himself included. The stresses and problems coming from all directions started to simmer down on a Friday, and the hope of a relaxing weekend encouraged everyone through the final hours.

Buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie, the ever-optimistic Will couldn't help the big grin on his face. Yes, Fridays were a joy to behold.

After eating breakfast with his wife and two daughters, Will kissed his family goodbye and promptly got into his car. The meeting was at 7:30, and he always liked to get there early so that he could personally greet the faculty and staff. As he drove, Will turned on the radio to the 80s music channel, bobbing his head to the beat of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'".

This was going to be a  _very_  good day, he had a feeling.

Pulling into his parking spot and locking his car, Will nodded in greeting to the teachers, staff, and administrators entering the building. "Ms. Hasbrouck, how are you this morning?"

The blonde woman gave a small smile. "Fine, Principal Donner. At least, I will be once I get inside. This weather is frigid!" Tish shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her body before hustling through the doors. Her sensitivity to the cold was understandable. She wasn't native to Central City; the chemistry instructor had lived in Florida as a college professor at the University of Miami before moving a few years ago. It was only natural that she would still have trouble adjusting to the relatively low temperatures and snowy winter weather of Missouri.

Will remembered hiring Tish three years ago. He personally interviewed every staff member before offering them a job, and hers stood out. Tish was a very driven, very intelligent, and very pleasant woman. Her students as a whole performed very successfully on their state exams year after year, and she was patient with those who had trouble with the material the first time around.

However, Tish Hasbrouck was also very intense. Though she generally had a calm presence, she also had a harsh temper that came out from time to time, especially when  _some_ students irritated her. Of all the teachers in the school, Tish gave out the most detentions on a weekly basis, sometimes for very minor reasons.

"Principal Donner. Good morning." Startled from his thoughts, Will turned to see Melissa Evans, the school nurse, approaching the doors. The small woman, who was normally the most unflappable, collected individual you will ever meet, seemed unusually anxious. She was fidgeting with her hands and the shoulder strap of her purse, and her forehead was creased into a frown.

Will obligingly opened the door for her, asking worriedly, "Is something the matter, Nurse Evans?"

She blinked, and shook her head. "N-no, sir. It's… um… it's… it's nothing." Melissa gave a shaky smile before continuing inside.

 _That was oddly out of character._  Will checked his watch. 7:28. It was almost time to start the meeting. He joined the rest of the staff inside, following the crowd to the lecture hall. After greeting his secretary and filling up a cup of coffee, he walked to the front of the room, taking his place behind the podium. "Good morning, everyone. If you will please take your seats, we will begin the meeting now."

Will looked down at his agenda, and then cleared his throat before beginning the proceedings. "I call this meeting to order, on Friday, November the 19th, year 2010, at 7:30 am. Let's begin with our general business…"

Knowing how long-winded meetings could quickly turn boring for everyone gathered, Will was always brief, succinct, and direct with each item of business on the agenda. He reminded the staff that there would be a scheduled maintenance on the school's computer network around noon today and that district teacher evaluations would begin the week after next. He commended Mr. Cudjo for being declared "Teacher of the Month", and he recognized other faculty members for their hard work and accomplishments over the past few weeks.

"Also, please keep in mind that midterm exams are scheduled for next month, the week before Winter Break. And that concludes our general business. Now," Will looked up from the lectern. "I understand that we have some new business on the table. Ms. Hasbrouck? Do you want to take the floor?"

Tish stood to her feet and sternly replied, "Yes, Principal Donner, I do." As she strode to the front of the room, Will moved aside and took his seat on the front row next to his secretary. He had no idea what the chemistry department head wished to discuss, but every faculty and staff member was offered the opportunity to share their ideas.

"Good morning, everyone," the blonde teacher addressed the assembly. "I'm here to bring up a topic of interest to many of you, regarding one particular student in our school, Keystone High. Wallace Rudolph West."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 18, 7:15 CST**

_Beep beep beep beep…_

Wally West was not much of a morning person. As a rule, speedsters tried to get as much sleep as they could when given the chance. Breaking the sound barrier in your sneakers on a regular basis can wear you out fast.

So when his alarm went off, Wally slammed his fist on the snooze button and rolled over, returning to his dreams of roundhouse-kicking Vandal Savage in his ugly Neanderthal face.

Wally smiled in his sleep.

At 7:30, though, his mom had other ideas. Coming into his room and throwing open the curtains on his window, she announced perkily to her son, "Rise and shine, twinkle-toes. Time to get ready for school."

School. Blech. " _Moooooooooommmmmm_ …" Wally moaned pitifully.

"Waaaaaaaalllllyyyyyyy," she mimicked him, yanking off his covers and turning on the lamp on his nightstand. "Up and at 'em, bucko. It's Friday. And I'm sure your uncle is ready to go running with you this morning if you hurry."

_Friday? Running? Well, that changes everything._

Wally vaulted out of bed with a whoop and raced between his room and the bathroom, then threw open the doors to his closet with a laugh and spun into his uniform. Friday, Friday, Friday. Better yet, Friday with Uncle Barry on a high-speed run and a weekend of hanging out with Dick and Roy waiting for him at the end of the day.

Life didn't get any better than this.

As Wally sped out of his house and across the city to the meet up spot where Uncle Barry was waiting for him, he realized that his arm wasn't hurting much at the moment. Maybe that trek last night from Gotham helped it heal or something. He'd nearly hit  _Mach 2_  in Illinois, twice the speed of sound, and when he returned to a lower, more comfortable speed, his arm didn't ache nearly as badly as it did before.

Or maybe that was because it felt completely  _numb_  at this point…

With a shrug, Wally skidded to a stop in front of his mentor a few seconds later. They were standing atop a ridge of cliffs in Granite Peak National Park that overlooked Central City in the valley below. The sunrise was always best seen from here, and it was a great landmark to start a nice warm-up run first thing in the morning.

After they stretched, the Flash gave him a wide grin, ruffling his hair and getting into a running stance. "Morning, Kid," he said in his bright, cheerful voice. True to tradition, he asked in speed-talk, "You ready to go?"

And true to tradition, as he pulled his goggles down over his eyes, Wally answered with speed-talk and a laugh, "Quit talking and start running."

And the two were off, breaking the sound barrier somewhere in south Arkansas.

As Wally ran beside his mentor, he frowned. Something had been bothering him ever since last night at Wayne Manor. "Hey, uh, Uncle Barry?" Wally asked. Neither of them were panting or breaking a sweat. Their stupid metabolisms were good for  _something_ , after all.

"Yeah, Kid?" Not breaking pace, Uncle Barry looked over at him. Even though Wally couldn't see his mentor's eyes through the whites of his cowl, he knew that the man was giving him his whole and undivided attention. Knowing that gave Wally confidence.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, I'm guessing you know about the… incident at the Flash Museum a couple nights ago?"

Flash laughed out loud. "Of course I do, Kid! It was all over the news! Heck, I called in Iris's tip to Bruce in the first place, remember? Plus, I  _tend_  to hear about this stuff sooner than most people. I happen to be a police officer, in case you forgot," he joked. "I was waiting for you to bring it up, but I've been dying to hear from you how it went!"

Wally shrugged. "It was okay. Four of the Rogues – Cold, Boomerang, Mirror Master and Trickster – showed up. The Team started getting their butts whooped. I bailed them out-"

"Hold the phone!" Uncle Barry shook his head. "The Team got their 'butts whooped'? That wasn't in the file."

Wally sighed. "Yeah. I didn't blab in the police report, but the Team sorta… underestimated them. Completely caught off guard, despite my warnings." He looked up at his uncle. "They thought the Rogues would be a 'piece of cake'."

"Well, they thought wrong. Lesson learned." Uncle Barry pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I'm still glad you chose to take them with you. Since I wasn't able to be there, you needed help to take the Rogues down, Kid. I take it you remembered what I taught you?"

"Yeah, 'Never go solo against the Rogues.' I remember everything, Uncle Barry. Give me  _some_  credit, come on!"

"Ah," Flash grabbed Wally's arm and firmly yanked him away from a building that Wally would have unknowingly run into a millisecond later. "Apparently not everything, Kid. Lesson number three?" he asked with a smirk.

"I know, I know. ' _Watch where you're going_.'" Wally pouted. They ran for another second in silence before Wally continued, "Anyways, the criminals were cuffed and carted off before too long. I talked to the press. Bada bing, bada boom, I'm eating two batches of Aunt Iris's casserole in the kitchen."

"I see. So, nothing more to report? Anyone seriously injured?" Flash questioned, sounding like he already knew the answer.

Wally looked away. "Y-yeah... About that... Um, Captain Boomerang may or may not have stabbed me with, you know, a boomerang. Though," Wally's eyes glanced over at his mentor, who was rubbing his face exasperatedly. "… You already knew that."

"I work in the  _crime labs_ , Kid. It's my job to know this stuff. In fact, I went to the evidence locker for the boomerang and did some tests on it myself."

"And you found out about the toxin in the metal, right?"

"W-what?" Uncle Barry's head spun to stare at Wally in surprise. "How do you know about that? I was going to keep that a secret!"

"Oh. Well, I was at Dick's yesterday after school. Bruce took some scans. He mentioned that you had sent him a message yesterday morning, and that there was a lot of… whatever it is... in my arm. Sorry, maybe he didn't know you didn't want him to spill the beans."

Flash shrugged. "Guess the cat's out of the bag, huh? Well… it's going to be okay, Kid. We'll know more about it by Tuesday, no sweat. Has the wound been causing you trouble in the meantime?"

Trouble?  _Massive_  understatement. "Yeah. It…  _hurt_."

Uncle Barry gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll bet it did. It was a stab wound, after all. It's taking longer to heal, too, thanks to this toxin."

 _How should he put this?_  "No, I don't mean 'hurt' like, 'Ow, I broke my arm fighting the Injustice League' or 'Ow, I skinned my entire left side tripping at top speed when fighting Zoom'… I mean 'hurt' like, 'Ow, I just got drowned in chemicals, struck by lightning, and woke up in a hospital half-starved a week later because of my new hyper-metabolism.'"

Flash was silent for a while as he thought that over. Wally involuntarily shuddered at the memory. Though the powers afterward were totally worth it, the process of getting super speed had been sheer agony. He had flashbacks about that day every now and then. The recovery period was a dark time in his childhood.

The two came to a stop at the coast of Louisiana, looking out at the blue expanse of the Gulf of Mexico. Wally loved the feel of the ocean breeze on his face and in his hair, and he spread his arms out wide and took a deep lungful of air. Smirking, Wally teased, "You're having another CSI moment, aren't you?"

Right on cue, Barry replied, "Kid, I was CSI before anyone knew what CSI stood for." It was an overused joke between the two speedsters, but it never got old. "So how does your arm feel now?"

Wally smiled. "Now? It actually feels great." He flexed his arm back and forth experimentally. "No problems at all."

His mentor exhaled. "Well, that's good. Maybe your body is learning to cope with the toxin by dulling the pain. Even if it doesn't heal quickly, at least you're not in pain while we dig deeper for more information, Kid. That's a plus." The two exchanged a grin before Uncle Barry put his hands on his hips. "When you're ready, we'll head back."

"Ready when you are,  _old man_ ," Wally taunted, not even waiting for his mentor's signal before turning around and sprinting back the way they came.

" _Old?!_  I'm only thirty-five! Cut me a break, Kid, geez!" Uncle Barry laughed, catching up to him with ease. Wally had a long way to go before he could ever outrun his mentor, but he was looking forward to the moment when he would actually  _win_  a race home. Oh, how he would relish the chance to gloat when that day came!

Until then, Wally was more than happy to run in step next to the man he called uncle, teacher, role model and hero, matching him pace-for pace on their way back to Central City.

This was why Friday mornings  _rocked_.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 19, 8:34 CST**

Will Donner couldn't believe he was hearing this.

Tish Hasbrouck had gone on her soap box for nearly five minutes, ranting and raving about Wally, calling him a "slacker", an "obnoxious know-it-all", and a "disrespectful punk". All personal accusations against a mere  _student!_

What's worse, the blonde teacher had gotten a rise out of other members of the faculty and staff as well. Louisa Small stood to her feet and called out, "That boy has never made it through a single one of my English classes without falling asleep on his desk! His snores are very disruptive!"

Vera, one of the food service employees, stepped forward and announced, "If you don't stop that West kid from eating his way through our food stores day after day, we're going on strike!" Next to her, Marcie and Rita crossed their arms in agreement.

Even Coach Matthews called out in his deep, resonant voice, "That little schmuck has the nerve to deny his ability to run? He's the fastest little wiener on this campus, I saw it with my own eyes, I swear! He's a dead-pan liar!"

Really, a part of Will was impressed that the kid had managed to royally tick off over half of the faculty and staff after only a year and a half at Keystone High. That actually took talent.

But the professional, authoritative side of Will stepped up to the plate. He shouted above the chaos, "Order! Order! Everyone, please! Settle down and take your seats. You too, Tish." He nodded at her to sit down once more. "Now. I understand that many of you have your grievances with Wally. Many students have walked the halls of this fine institution who have personally irritated and aggravated the members of the faculty and staff here. For one example, many of you know of Josh Nogra."

"Nogra's a bad seed, no doubt about it," someone called out.

Principal Donner nodded. "The boy does have some troubles, that is true. So you see, this is not a new thing, having a 'problem' child in the student body. Now, as we discuss this, I expect each and every one of you to speak calmly and behave like mature  _adults_. Are we clear?"

Once he was sure the meeting wouldn't erupt into a total meltdown, Will said, "Alright. Tish? You brought this up. Honestly, I'm surprised that you find fault with Wally. Isn't he one of your best students?" Wally was on track to lead Keystone High to victory at the National Science Olympiad this year, last he heard. The boy had a reputation for his scientific genius.

" _The_  best student. And that's the problem. He's… he's  _too_  good. It's unnatural. I've never seen anything like it, in all my years of teaching both high school and college students. His knowledge is… unfathomable. The details he's included in his lab reports, especially regarding  _exact_   _times_  of decay rates for uncommon elements and compounds, they're… they're beyond his years. Some of the things he pulls are facts and figures that  _I_  don't even know. And I have  _two_  masters' degrees!" Tish huffed. "He's a freak of nature," she said with finality.

Will closed his eyes and counted to ten, gathering up all of his patience. "So Wally is an extremely bright kid. Why is this a  _bad_  thing, Tish? He sounds like a dream student."

" _Why_ , sir? It's because he's… he's hiding something. I talked to him privately yesterday after class, and he promised he'd be a 'better student', as if he's been  _holding back_  all this time. He's got a secret, some trick to explain how he can  _know_  so  _much_  and  _think_  so  _fast_ , and he's  _flaunting_  it. It's…  _insulting_ , Principal Donner."

Will sighed. "Look, I understand your frustration. But you also know that it is not our place to know the private situations of the students we educate."

Pausing for a moment in thought, Will locked eyes with Melissa in the assembly, five rows back from the front. This time last year, he and Melissa had quietly worked alongside social workers to investigate the safety of Wally's home life. Nothing turned up, and the West household was pronounced "safe and nurturing" by the social workers. But it was clear he and the nurse both remembered the concern they felt over Wally's well-being.

While his parents may have not been the problem, even Will had to admit the boy was hiding  _something_. Part of him was very curious.

"This… 'secret' you believe Wally has, do you have any idea what it could be?" he asked the blonde teacher.

Tish shook her head bashfully. "N-no, sir."

"Does anybody here have any clue as to what Mr. West could be hiding?" Will called out to the assembly. He heard muttered words like 'fast', 'stomach', and 'slacker', but no one spoke up and the principal was about ready to conclude the meeting.

Just then, Tim Cudjo slowly stood to his feet. This man, head of the Social Studies department, was one of the most respected members of the Keystone High faculty and staff. He had been the one to recommend his sister, Melissa for hire. Right now, Melissa was staring at her brother in shock, hints of anger and outrage evident in her expression as well.

"Tim?" Will acknowledged. The lecture hall quieted as everyone saw the teacher about to speak.

After some hesitation, Tim said, "I… I believe I know Wally's secret."

"Tim, sit down!" Melissa hissed at him in a fierce whisper.

"You're right. He…  _is_  hiding something." Tim rubbed the top of his bald head anxiously.

Melissa was halfway out of her chair, pointing across the lecture hall at the social studies teacher as she interjected, "Tim, I thought we had an agreement!"

Ignoring the interjections of his sister, Tim announced loud and clear to all the faculty and staff gathered, "Wally West is the teen speedster hero of Central City, Kid Flash."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 19, 8:43 CST**

Of all the places on the Keystone High School campus, Wally's favorite spot was definitely the library.

Barely anyone used it, especially first thing in the morning on a Friday, and the few teens who did were highly unlikely to make fun of him under their breath or shoot spit-wads at the back of his head. So he enjoyed getting to school early most days, walking through the library doors, finding a dark corner in the reference section, and sitting down in solitude.

After an exhilarating run to and from the Gulf and then showing up at school before the hallways became too cramped with antsy students, Wally was given a good fifteen minutes all to himself before the bell rang at the start of first period. He pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. In truth, books weren't really his thing, since they didn't last long against his speed-reading capabilities. He could breeze through this entire library in a day's time if he wanted to.

No, right now, all Wally wanted to do was beat his high score on Flappy Bird.

By some miracle from heaven above, Wally had made it to  _twenty-three_  on the infernal tapping game before someone clearing their throat out of the blue startled him and made him drop the phone. "Gah! Oh no…" Wally snatched up his phone from the ground to read the screen:  _Game over_. Darn. He was on a roll to beating Dick's high score of 9872 (though it was highly likely Boy Wonder had cheated there too).

The person who had disturbed him cleared their throat once again. Wally looked up to see Mr. Boyd, his math teacher, standing before him awkwardly. And why was he staring at Wally like that? "Uh, Mr. Boyd. Hi."

"Wally," he nodded in greeting. "I'm… I'm here to bring you to the lecture hall."

The  _lecture hall_? Weird. "Isn't that where the faculty meeting is going on right now?" Wally asked, scratching his ear in confusion.

"Um… yes, that's… yes. They… we need to… speak… with you…." The teacher was stuttering, something that never happened. Ordinarily, Mr. Boyd was as smooth with his words as Dick was good at being a total troll all the time.

(Seriously, his best friend had sent him a text at  _two in the morning_  that day with the word " _Trololololol_ ". Wally wanted to punch him, but the guy lived halfway across the country.)

Wally, realizing that something was wrong and that he was needed urgently, jumped to his feet and swung his backpack over his shoulder, jamming his phone into his pocket. The math instructor led the way out of the library and down the hallway towards the lecture hall. "So... Mr. Boyd, what does everyone want me for?"

Mr. Boyd seemed really pale and nervous, and he kept glancing at Wally out of the corner of his eye like he was expecting Wally to spontaneously combust or something. "It's… uh… I don't… Um… You'll see," he finally said. The teacher reached forward and jerked the door to the lecture hall open wide, hurriedly gesturing for Wally to get inside. He then checked to see that no one else was in the hallway before following Wally into the assembly room, closing the door behind him.

Once Mr. Boyd took his seat, Wally was left alone at the back of the room. He'd never been in a faculty meeting before – he doubted any student ever had. Every faculty and staff member was turned around in their seats, staring at him. Some of them he knew personally, and some of them he had never seen before.

They had varying expressions of shock, awe, disbelief, doubt, reverence, and in the case of the  _glorious_  Coach Matthews, a strange, satisfied look of  _"I knew it."_

What was going on?

"Wally." Principal Donner was at the other end of the lecture hall behind a podium. Wally liked Principal Donner; everyone at Keystone High did. He was the man who made sure that the whole social worker-fiasco last year was kept hush-hush, and he gave Wally high-fives when he saw him in the hallways.

He motioned for Wally to come up to the front. As the civvie-clad speedster passed down the center aisle, feeling like a bug under a microscope as the surrounding high school staff members followed him with their eyes. The room was in dead silence; you could hear a metaphorical pin drop.

Wally came to stand right next to Principal Donner, who put his hand on his shoulder. This was a lot of pomp-and-circumstance. Was Wally going to win an award or something?

Principal Donner looked down at him, his face very neutral and composed, unlike those of the rest of the faculty. The principal kindly squeezed his shoulder before asking in slow, even voice, "Now, Wally. There's nothing bad going on. No, we just… have a question for you."

"Okay…" This was all very,  _very_  weird. What question did they need to ask him during a faculty meeting?

_Four words._

The next four words that fell from Principal Donner's mouth were the four words that Wally had worked hard for the past several years to avoid.

They were the four words that he had lied repeatedly, quietly suffered, and taken painstaking precautions to avoid.

They were the four words that Uncle Barry had driven into his head repeatedly to avoid at all costs, ever since the day Wally signed his contracts to join the Justice League's roster of heroes.

They were the four words that Wally heard in his nightmares every two weeks without fail, dreading the day that he heard those four words in real life.

They were four words that made his heart stop, his lungs deflate, and his stomach drop to his feet in devastation.

They were the four words that would now end his career as a hero, his everyday social life, and most likely his  _physical_  life as well.

They were the four words that would get everyone Wally loved, everyone he cared about, and everyone present in that lecture hall  _killed_  within a year.

Four words. Not, "I love you, Wally." Not, "Will you marry me?" Not, "Let's go get pizza."

Four words.

Four.

Words.

" _Are you Kid Flash?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyways, I was just going to make this chapter all about the faculty meeting, but one, I thought that was much too boring, and two, I realized I was EIGHT chapters into this story with Barry supposedly a "main character", and he and Wally weren't seen together ONE TIME yet! So I had fun giving them a relaxing morning run and a heart-to-heart.
> 
> As for the faculty meeting itself, you guys should see my room. I've covered my walls with charts and diagrams and a map of the United States with sticky notes about freakin' weather patterns in different states. I got big sheets of paper out and read through the entire story multiple times, making notes on each teacher and their perspective on Wally. I spent probably a good ten or twelve HOURS preparing for this chapter, deciding what was important and what wasn't, doing math about speed and rewatching Young Justice episodes.
> 
> And you know what? I'm still not altogether satisfied with it! XD


	9. Promises, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you Kid Flash?"
> 
> It's every hero's greatest nightmare: exposure. Wally is faced with a major dilemma, and it seems there's no way out…

**9**

**PROMISES, PART ONE** **  
**

_With a splash, the hook carrying the worm plopped into the water, the bright red bobber quickly springing up to bounce lightly on the lake's surface moments later._

_Twelve-year-old Wally West had his tongue ticking out in concentration as he slowly began to wind the reel on his fishing rod, pulling the line taut and preparing for action. Beside him, his Uncle Barry was watching with a smile, occasionally offering tips and helping Wally adjust his rod's position. It was a calm June morning, and the two speedsters were taking a day off from the intense speed training to have a relaxing day out in nature._

_Wally had objected at first, wanting nothing more than to run out to the sand dunes of New Mexico or the polar ice caps in northern Canada first thing that morning. For the past three weeks, the two had been solely focusing on Wally's foot-coordination as he practiced running on different types of terrain._

_It had been less than a year ago that Wally's dangerous experiment with chemicals and lightning had produced successful results and the boy had discovered his newly-formed super speed. While he was stoked beyond belief, his uncle had been less than enthusiastic at first, and it took some major convincing to finally get him to take him on as a sidekick. On one condition, though: Wally would have to agree to complete at least a twelve months of training before he was allowed to officially start fighting crime. He was a new speedster, after all, and he found himself in the unique position of having to deal with a new body as a preteen kid._

_Uncle Barry had much to teach him before he was ready for the world. And while chemistry had given Wally his powers, physics was needed in learning how to use them._

_For months his uncle had been giving him a crash-course in the physics of speed and running, about different friction rates of different land terrains, about basic hand-to-hand combat and the special moves Wally could now try with his speed and momentum, about how to avoid tripping mid-step and skidding on his face for hundreds of feet (that was a lesson he learned the hard way), and even about how to somewhat control the rate of his metabolism so that he wouldn't need to consume tens of thousands of carbs a day._

_That last one was a skill Wally would still struggle with years later._

_Today, though, Uncle Barry had an entirely different lesson in mind. Pulling Wally into his car, he drove them out to the nearby Granite Peak National Park. The area was known for its deep woods and beautiful wildlife… not for its wide-open spaces._

" _What are we doing here?" Wally asked, confused. "Am I going to learn how to run through the forest?"_

" _Nope," was all Uncle Barry said, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a big crate. Hefting the big box onto his shoulder with ease, he led the way down a trail, Wally following him and wondering what training they were going to do today._

_After a few minutes of walking (Wally was itching to start running full speed ahead, but he didn't know where they were going), the two approached one of the park's expansive lakes. Instantly, Wally's face lit up in grin. "Awesome! Am I gonna finally learn how to run on water today?"_

" _Nope," his uncle said again, popping the 'p' with a simple smile. Wally sagged in disappointment. Why were they there, then?_

_As they came closer, Wally saw a simple, unoccupied rowboat tied to the dock. Uncle Barry climbed onboard, setting the crate down on the floor of the boat and waving for Wally to join him. More confused than ever, Wally hesitantly stepped onboard, sitting down on the bench opposite his mentor who started to row the boat out towards the middle of the lake. "Uh… Uncle Barry?"_

" _Hm?" The blonde man smiled at his nephew._

" _Um… What are we doing?"_

" _What do you think, Kid? Look in the box." His uncle nudged the crate with his foot and nodded towards it encouragingly._

_After a pause of hesitation, Wally pried open the lid and peeked inside. "It's… fishing stuff." The redheaded boy frowned and held up a tackle box and a bag of worms. "What are going to do with these?"_

_Uncle Barry laughed and set the oars down in the boat. They were now floating in the very center of the lake. "Thought it was obvious, Kid. We're fishing."_

_Wally watched as the man bent over and started setting up two fishing rods, complete with bobbers, hooks, and bait. "Well,_ _**yeah** _ _, but I meant… why? I thought we were training."_

" _We are, Kid. I'm teaching you an extremely important lesson today," Uncle Barry said as he squinted, threading the line through the narrow eye of the fishing hook. "A crucial skill that, once you master it, will save your life someday. Trust me." He gave Wally a wink as he handed him a rod._

_Frowning, Wally watched as Uncle Barry tossed his own line out to the water. "And what 'crucial skill' is that?" he asked, doing his best to copy his mentor's actions._

_Sitting back on his bench in the boat, Uncle Barry raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Today, Kid, you're learning patience."_

_Wally groaned. "How is that a crucial skill? We're speedsters. We don't need to be patient. Time slows down for us; we can get places before anyone else. We don't have to be patient at all."_

_With a laugh, Uncle Barry shook his head. "Ah, Kid. You've got it all backwards. Patience is more important to us speedsters than to anyone else. Even Batman. How do you think I manage on stakeouts, hm? I could just run into abandoned warehouses and knock out all the bad guys at once. But I don't, because I need to wait and see who's running the operation, find out details, get to the bottom of things, figure out the big picture. I can't do all that if I just charge in at once, can I?"_

" _I guess…" Wally pouted. "But being patient is boring! And… hard." Already he was getting antsy, and they'd only been out for five minutes._

" _Of course it's hard, particularly for you and me. And that's why we're going to practice it today, Kid. Plus, this gives us some quality time together to just enjoy each other's company." Uncle Barry reached over and ruffled Wally's hair affectionately._

_Wally sighed._

_An eternity passed._

_After nearly going cross-eyed from staring at the unmoving bobber, waiting for any sign of a fish biting, Wally huffed in boredom and asked his mentor, "Uncle Barry, why do we have secret identities?"_

_The blonde man looked over at him in surprise. "You don't know that, Kid? I just assumed that you—"_

" _No, no, I know why we have them. Privacy and all that. But I don't know…_ _ **why**_ _we have them. I mean…" Wally struggled for the words to express his meaning. "What's the very worst that could happen if people found out someone's secret identity? Wouldn't that just make us celebrities?"_

_Uncle Barry whistled and quirked his mouth in consideration. "That's a good question, Kid." He rubbed the back of his neck, and then set his fishing rod down to rest against the side of the rowboat and leaned forward, setting his forearms on his knees in thought. "Well, let's walk it through, practice thinking a few steps ahead. Let's say that, hypothetically, someone found out… Batman's secret identity, for example. What do you think would be the first thing that person would do?"_

_Wally shrugged. "Tell somebody, I guess? Tell their best friend?" he suggested wistfully. Wally didn't have a best friend at the time. He hadn't met Dick or Roy yet, and he hadn't even met Hartley until they started high school._

" _Sure. And what would that best friend do?"_

"…  _Tell somebody else."_

" _Right. So, word gets around about who Batman really is under that scary black mask and swooping cape. Then what?"_

" _Then…" Wally frowned. An image of his Aunt Iris popped up in his head. "The news would hear about it eventually."_

" _Exactly. Batman's secret identity would show up in newspapers and on TV around the world almost overnight. Pretty soon, everyone on the planet would know the secret. Including…" Uncle Barry motioned for Wally to fill in the blank._

_With a jump, Wally's eyes went wide with realization. "Including the supervillains! They'd know who Batman was and where he lived, and they'd all start attacking him left and right!"_

" _Bingo. But Batman's safety is the least of his worries. What else?" Uncle Barry raised an eyebrow._

" _And… And Robin! If people knew who Batman was, they could figure out who Robin was, too! Robin would be in danger!" Wally shuddered at the thought. Robin was the world's first sidekick. He had inspired Wally to become the Flash's sidekick in the first place._

_Uncle Barry nodded in satisfaction. "You get it, then. And from there, Batman and Robin's friends would be in the line of danger, and everyone around them would now be a target. So you understand, Kid? We have secret identities to give us a chance at a normal life when we're not fighting crime, sure. The privacy is a big plus. But that's not all. Our identities protect us, and they protect those closest to us, too."_

_Frowning as he explained, Uncle Barry continued, "Secret identities… they act like a giant shield in a gunfight. Take that barrier of protection away, and other innocent people are going to get caught in the crossfire. And it's not like someone can forget a secret once they've found out, Kid. It's permanent. You can't erase a name, a face, an entire persona from a civilian's memory. At least, not ethically, and definitely not safely. So to avoid that from ever happening, to avoid…_ _**exposure** _ _, it's one of a hero's most important duties to keep that secret locked up and hidden away from the rest of the world. At all costs. It'll be your duty, too, Kid, once you finally step into the limelight." He smiled at Wally and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "I know you'll be careful with your own identity in the future."_

" _R-right," Wally stuttered, visions of the horrible implications of exposure swarming through his mind. But to his right, a sudden splash of water pulled him out of his thoughts, and Wally turned to see his bobber bouncing up and down repeatedly. "I've got one!" he shouted excitedly, and he started to reel the fish in…_

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 19, 8:47 CST**

Snapping out of his memory, Wally found himself back in the present, in front of the dozens and dozens of Keystone High staff members. The hand on his shoulder was Principal Donner's instead of Uncle Barry's, and he was standing in the lecture hall in a faculty meeting, not sitting in a rowboat fishing with his mentor.

And those four words were still echoing repeatedly in his mind.  _"Are you Kid Flash?"_

Wally's heart pounded painfully against his rib cage, he felt the blood drain from his face in fear, his spine went rigid, and his shoulders felt weighed down like that time he tried to give Conner a piggy-back ride.

That hadn't ended so well. And neither would this, unless he thought of something. Heck, he was facing the end of an era here.

" _Are you Kid Flash?"_ the question echoed again.

This was it. What Uncle Barry had warned him against in the very beginning.  _Exposure_.

Wally's eyes darted sideways, scanning the crowd. He had to stop freaking out; he  _had_  to salvage this.  _C'mon, Wall-man, you're a scientist! What are the facts?_

Three points stood out to Wally just then.

One. Somehow, someone in the crowd had connected the dots and figured out a superhero's deepest, most concealed secret, a feat that most civilians historically had never accomplished. Heck, all  _Superman_  had going for him was a suit and a dumb pair of cheap glasses, and  _still_  no one in Metropolis suspected a thing of Clark Kent! So there was a teacher out there who must have had help and enough evidence that would make them even  _consider_  something like this.

Two. The faculty had been so confident in their knowledge that they had sought him out and brought him here. They wanted to ask him personally to confirm their suspicions, but they already seemed pretty sure of the truth.

Three. Wally was, and always had been, a  _terrible_  liar. Especially in front of crowds. And this was a pretty big crowd, full of smart, knowledgeable adults…

With all that in mind, there still  _had_  to be a way to fix this. Some way out. Some easy way to disprove what was actually the full-blown truth. Some way…

_Principal Donner's voice was still echoing in his head. "Are you Kid Flash?"_

Stunned and totally forgetting where he was and what he had to do, Wally blurted out, "H-how did you figure it out?" He instantly grimaced.

He did  _not_  just say that out loud.

_Stupid!_

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!_

_What the actual_ _**heck** _ _, Wall-man?! You did_ _**not** _ _need to say that! This is no time for a brain-fart! Idiot! You stupid, stupid_ _**idiot** _ _!_

There wasn't even a fitting word to express how unbelievably  _bad_  this situation was. Wally practically felt his world starting to crumble around him. A living nightmare.

The only option left was heavy damage control. "I-I mean… Hehe. No! No, I'm not Kid Flash. Pssh.  _Please_. Don't even joke!" Wally exclaimed, trying to laugh it off in a feeble attempt to avoid crashing and burning miserably.

Silence. No one bought it. Wally wasn't surprised. He couldn't have even convinced  _himself_  at this point.

Wally resignedly watched the faces in the crowd, and Principal Donner beside him, gauging their reactions. Some of them just looked shocked, some were pinching themselves to make sure this was reality, and others, like  _Coach Matthews_ , didn't seem to be very surprised at all.

The coach stood to his feet and pointed at him, pronouncing, "I  _knew_ it! I  _knew_  it wasn't an adrenaline rush! Man oh man, does this explain a lot! I mean," Coach Matthews let out a hearty laugh, "I knew you were fast, West, but I didn't think you were a freakin'  _superhero_!"

Wally facepalmed.

Oh.

Freaking.

Crap.

Wally was doomed.  _Beyond_  doomed.

 _Dead_.

A dead kid walking.

 _Okay, okay, Wall-man,_  his inner scientist took over.  _Take it easy. You've screwed up pretty badly, huh? You have… what? Close to a hundred random adults who now know your biggest, most dangerous secret. Over half of which are complete strangers who don't know you from a hole in the wall, and the other half who hate your guts. And the first bell is going to ring in twelve minutes, meaning the hallway outside_   _will be flooded with students before long. So… your first priority is containment. Don't let anyone in or out of this room. You need to control the conditions. Eliminate the variables, like in an experiment. Contain and control, contain and control. Thank goodness the lecture hall is soundproof… but you need to lock those doors._

Wally's mind and body kicked into high gear. Now that everyone knew, he didn't have to worry about hiding his speed. His eyes quickly scanned the room, searching for the keys to the doors. They had to be somewhere on hand since the meeting was almost over. Where were they?

There! In the hand of Principal Donner's secretary. Wally darted forward, everyone around him practically frozen in place compared to him, and carefully pried the keys from the woman's grasp. He sped down the center aisle again and tried each key on the ring in the lock until he found the one that fit. With a click, the doors were sealed. Wally sighed. At least the exposure was limited to this room… for the time being.

_Now, what, Kid Moron? You're still compromised! What are you going to do?_

_Do what speedsters do best… talk._

Wally returned to the front of the room, placing the keys back in the secretary's hand and taking his place at Principal Donner's side. He willed his body and mind to slow down to normal speeds again, and instantly the lecture hall erupted in chaos. In the perspective of the teachers and school workers seated in the crowd, Wally had just blipped for a split second, sending gusts of wind blowing everyone's hair around. That was the final stamp of proof.

Coach Matthews was practically foaming at the mouth in excitement. Geez… Wally needed to put a lid on this.  _Now_.

He put up his hands, letting his Kid Flash confidence take center stage. "Everyone, please! Can you quiet down?" In seconds, the entire lecture had fallen silent again. Principal Donner staggered away to sink down in his seat in the front row; he seemed to be more than a little shocked at the revelation. But Wally now had everyone's undivided attention. "Thanks."

Years of training in public speaking with Uncle Barry kicked in. Wally needed to be persuasive, so that meant he had to get up on their level. Make himself relatable. He leaped up to sit on the podium nearby, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands loosely clasped in a casual pose. He forced a small smile on his face.  _Okay. You have the room. Don't lose it. Command it. Turn on that trademark speedster charm, Wall-man._

"Alright, everybody. Looks like you figured it out, huh? Was it that obvious?" Wally grinned and let out an easy chuckle (it was faked and he was inwardly terrified, but no one else needed to know that) and the crowd slowly joined in.  _Always best to start things off light._  "Okay, I confess. I'm Kid Flash. You got me." Wally held his hands up in surrender. "I enjoy dressing up in bright yellow spandex and running around kicking goons in the nuts in my free time. Go figure." More laughter.  _Okay, okay. Nice start. But you're on a time limit, though. Get to the point._ "So, we find ourselves in an interesting position, don't we? You all probably have questions, and I really need this to be kept quiet. No, not just quiet.  _Silent_. None of you can tell a soul. I  _mean_  it, and not for the reason you think."

Wally frowned in concern before continuing, "I'd hate for something bad to happen to one of you because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. It wouldn't even have to be something big, just a whisper to a coworker, or your husband or wife, or even your kids who are 'Kid Flash's biggest fans'. News travels fast in a small town like this. Loose lips sink ships, people! Next thing you know, you and that loved one could be hanging by your feet over a furnace with Heat Wave holding you for leverage, torturing you until you spilled the beans. You'd have unnecessarily put yourself in extreme mortal danger, all because you  _blabbed_. So… don't. For your sake and for mine."

The crowd stirred uncomfortably, a few sweating profusely at the thought of Heat Wave alone. Wally sighed. "Look, I don't want that to happen any more than you do. My first concern is always the safety of civilians, and that includes you and anyone you're tempted to tell. So…" Wally took a deep breath. This would be either pure genius or land him in even deeper doo-doo than he was already in. "I'm prepared to offer you a deal. In the next…" he checked his watch, "ten minutes, I will answer your questions about Kid Flash if each of you,  _each and every one_ of you,  _promise_  – swear on your  _life_ , literally – that you won't tell anyone _, not one person,_  what you heard today. Nothing leaves this room. You won't talk about it to my parents or my aunt and uncle. You won't talk about it to me. You won't even talk about it to each other.  _Ever_. Okay? Do we have an agreement?"

Remarkably, one by one, everyone in the crowd nodded in understanding. With a deep breath, Wally smiled and leaned back on his hands on his perch on the podium. "Alright. Shoot."

The first one to stand up, trembling in shock and nervousness, was Nurse Evans of all people. Wally wondered if she had been the one to figure it out in the first place. He saw as she exchanged a sidelong glance with Mr. Cudjo across the room. Ohhh…

The current events article. And the arm. Ah. Makes sense.

The nurse tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. "W-Wally… C-can I still call you that?" she asked tentatively.

Wally nodded emphatically. "Of course! Don't treat me any differently. In fact, that goes for everyone. Don't draw any more attention to me than you normally do. None of the students at Keystone High School can suspect a thing. Got it?" More nods. Wally motioned for Nurse Evans to continue.

"Well…  _Wally…_  is this why you're always injured? Because you're off fighting villains at night?" That's Nurse Evans for you. Always worried for her students' well-being. Wally smiled at her fondly.

"Yup. I get beat up a lot of the time, but you should see the other guy. I always deal 'em twice as hard as I take 'em, if you catch my drift. Plus," he added, noting her anxiety, "I heal really fast. Most of the bruises and scrapes fade away overnight, if not sooner. And the rougher stuff, like this," Wally pointed to his arm where the bandages were still wrapped around his stab wound beneath his clothes, "might take longer, but they  _do_  still heal. That's why I wear sleeves all the time, though. To cover up all the battle scars that just haven't healed and faded yet. No biggie." He gave an encouraging smile, and that seemed to put Nurse Evans a little bit at ease.

As soon as she took her seat, though, Ms. Marcie, the lunch lady, stood up. "So, Mr.  _Superhero_. This is where all the food is going, eh? Do your powers give you a big appetite or something?"

Wally smirked. "Yeah. Super speed requires a huge metabolism. On days when I don't do anything, I already need to eat something like five times that of a normal human per meal, just to keep breathing. And on days when I run or fight crooks, I need much,  _much_  more. It's a blessing and curse." Realizing that this was a golden opportunity to mend some fences, Wally smiled apologetically and added, "By the way, sorry for any hassle I've been causing you. I'm sure that the school board could work something out to get you a raise or something." Wally locked eyes with Principal Donner, who slowly nodded in agreement but with eyes still wide as saucers.

Yet, Ms. Marcie didn't seem to look so angry at him anymore. The frown lines in her face softened, and was that the hint of a smile? "Well, kid, it's not a problem. Not at all. Anything for a Central City hero."

_Wow._

Okay.

Coach Matthews was next. He didn't beat around the bush at all. "Are you gonna join the track team now, West?" he barked, his voice carrying from several rows back.

"Uh,  _not a chance_."

"And why not?"

"Because… I still need to keep all this a secret. Forever. Which means  _no running_." Wasn't that obvious? Wally cringed, expecting the coach to blow up in his face or something, but the man just laughed.

It wasn't even a mean laugh, like Wally was accustomed to. It was a genuine, heartfelt laugh. "I'm just kidding, West. I get it. I'll even stop pushing you to pick up the pace in gym. Promise."

And just to show just how backwards this day had turned out, Wally and Coach Matthews actually shared a  _grin_.

_Sweet Einstein, this was a Friday morning for the history books._

Wally glanced down at his watch. Only a couple of minutes left. "Okay, last question."

There was a pause. No one moved. Some were still digesting the information, and others just didn't know him well enough to ask anything.

But then, one solitary figure stood up. Tossing her blonde hair and her blue eyes narrowing, Ms. Hasbrouck crossed her arms and just stared at Wally for a few seconds. Wally was determined not to be intimidated by this teacher, especially now that he had no reason to act like a wimp.

Finally, she spoke up. "There's one thing that doesn't make sense. Your brain."

_Gee, hurtful…_

She continued, "I can understand your speed, your eating habits, your bumps and bruises, all of that. That comes with the territory. What I don't understand is how this explains your knowledge of science. Where did that come from?"

 _Fair question._  Should he tell her how he got his powers?

Heck, no! Who was he kidding? That wasn't even his secret to tell; it was Uncle Barry's experiment and notes that Wally replicated. Wally settled with a partial truth. "I learned advanced chemistry years ago. I've just known the information for a long time."

"Did the Flash teach you?" Ms. Hasbrouck asked.

"Uh, a little bit. Most of it I learned on my own."

"Is your super-speed the reason why you can mentally solve complex logarithms in seconds?" Her questions were coming rapid-fire.

"S-sure, that helps, I guess."

"Did the Flash teach you how to do that, too?"

"No, he—"

"Who is the Flash?"

And  _that_  was where Wally drew the line. It was one thing to question him as Kid Flash. It was another thing entirely to expose his mentor's secret identity.

That reminded him of how extremely precarious a position he was still in. His future, and the future of the entire Flash legacy, the Team, and even the Justice League itself, was entrusted to the unspoken promises of roughly a hundred civilians.

Seriously, this was a horrifying place to be.

Wally replied with finality, "The Flash is my mentor and my friend. He's trained me and taught me all I know. I'm not going to compromise him, I'm sorry." And for once, the lies came easily. "The Flash is not even related to me. I only met him after I got my powers. He doesn't know my parents, or my aunt or uncle, or anyone else in my life. He's just another person somewhere in Central City. And that's all I can tell you."

The bell was about to ring. Wally slid off of the podium and started to walk up and down the center aisle, talking as he paced through the middle of the lecture hall. "You are all about to leave this room and reenter society. I can't prevent any of you from texting your friends and family everything you've heard in the past fifteen minutes. I can't stop you from sharing the news with the students in your classrooms. And I can't hold you back from going right down the street to the Central City news station and announcing at the top of your lungs the truth about Kid Flash. I just can't." Wally turned and met Mr. Cudjo's eyes with a smirk. "Freedom of speech and all that, right Mr. Cudjo?"

Stopping in the middle of the room, Wally ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I can't stop you. But I  _am_  trusting you. I can't emphasize this enough. I'm placing an enormous risk in your hands, and I'm trusting you with it. You alone have the power to determine whether or not Kid Flash will be able to continue serving this city and saving lives tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I'm depending on you, and Central City is depending on you. Lives are at stake. So please. For the love of all that is holy.  _Keep_.  _Your_.  _Promise_."

The first bell rang, and outside of the doors, thousands of kids swarmed the hallway almost instantaneously. Wally gulped. Once these doors opened, he was vulnerable. Completely and utterly open and exposed. He felt  _naked_ , even more than he usually did in his civvies.

The secretary used her keys to open the doors, and slowly, wordlessly, each of the teachers filed out of the room, a few sparing quick glances at Wally, and others wisely choosing to ignore him. When both Ms. Hasbrouck and Coach Matthews passed by, they looked at Wally with new respect in their eyes.

Finally, Principal Donner was the last one left. Wally looked up at the tall man who had spoken the four words that still had the potential to topple everything sacred in Wally's life. Without a single word more, Principal Donner held up his hand, palm out, ready and waiting.

With a grin, Wally high-fived him.

_Here's to hoping this works out._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 19, 9:00 CST**

The rest of the school day that followed was a true testament to the nature of Central City. The town was known for its unusual love, bordering on worship, towards its Dashing Duo, the Flash and Kid Flash. (Other heroes on the Team and the League were secretly jealous.) This was a city where people, out of the goodness of their hearts, left food offerings with the Flash Food Initiative on their porches at night, built a Flash Museum, and even had an annual Flash Appreciation Day. Nearly every citizen owned Flash and/or Kid Flash memorabilia, like T-shirts and posters; even baby stores sold Flash diapers and Kid Flash booties. A local grocery store always kept the ever-popular "Lightspeed Energy Bars" on sale - the same snacks Kid Flash kept stocked in the cupboards tucked inside his gauntlets.

The citizen's council had even raised funds to  _pave extra side lanes_  labeled with the Flash insignia on all the major roads and bridges in and around Central City. That way, the speedsters wouldn't have to keep dodging between traffic to catch criminals on the loose.

Central City was perhaps the most dedicated town in America when it came to caring for the local heroes.

And that particular Friday, it really showed.

In a completely unanticipated turn of events, not a single teacher breathed a word of what took place in the faculty meeting. All day, many avoided eye contact with Wally, didn't change any of their normal behavior around him, and even went out of their way to avoid him in their efforts to uphold their promise. The few teachers that had Wally in their classes didn't treat him any differently than before. Ms. Small still snapped at him for dozing off in English class, Ms. Hasbrouck still frowned at him when he aced a pop quiz on buffer solutions, and Coach Matthews continued to call him a "pansy".

Though he caught the coach smirking a bit when he thought Wally wasn't looking.

The one teacher who might have had the toughest time keeping everything on the down-low was Mr. Cudjo. Just like every day, current events time sprung up at the end of class. Mai Li raised her hand, no doubt excited to share the latest gossip about the Flash and his sidekick.

But Mr. Cudjo, for a brief second, glanced in Wally's direction before announcing to the class, "Now, now, everyone. I know we're all excited to dive into discussion about the speedsters. It is a topic of interest, I'll grant you that."

Wally bit his lip, heartrate spiking. Was Mr. Cudjo going to 'break the news'?  _Now_?

Mr. Cudjo walked over to the corkboard and ripped down yesterday's article about Kid Flash with the picture of his injury, replacing it with another article that had a shot of a baseball diamond. Turning around, Mr. Cudjo leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets and sighed. "I believe we've been placing much too much focus on local events lately. Let's turn our eyes to what's happening in the rest of the nation, and even the globe. For instance, how many of you have any idea who won the World Series nearly three weeks ago?" No one raised their hand. "Alright. We'll need to fix that. From now on, let's hold off on local news about the Flash and Kid Flash, and let's branch out to the big picture events instead. Okay, class?"

After grumbling amongst themselves for a few seconds, the students begrudgingly agreed. Wally sat back in his chair.  _Wow._   _That was actually a really smart move, Mr. Cudjo_ , he thought. Without the daily reminder superheroes in the classroom, the opportunities for further exposure would go away. If all went well, none of his peers would ever have the means to figure it out.

 _Thank you, sir_ , Wally nodded at the teacher subtly. Mr. Cudjo just blinked in acknowledgement before leading the class on a rousing debate about Nancy Pelosi being reelected as the Leader of the House Democrats in Congress.

With a small, tired smile, exhausted after the stressful day of worrying whether his teachers would keep their word, Wally exhaled in relief.  _Maybe this was going to work out_ , he thought optimistically.

And then, for the second time that day, Wally's heart stopped, and the chill of fear returned at the thought of one person.

Batman.

When Batman found out about this – and it wasn't a matter of if, but  _when_ …

_The Dark Knight was going to skin him alive. Literally._


	10. Promises, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Wally managed to handle the exposure to his teachers that morning, the threat of the future continues to torment him late into the evening. Maybe a night out with Dick and Roy can fix that...
> 
> And in the final moments of patrol, our resident teen speedster meets a certain stranger for the first time…

**10**

**PROMISES, PART TWO**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 19, 15:30 CST**

That Friday afternoon, the ring of the final bell signaled freedom from the horrors of school, and more importantly, the beginning of a much-needed weekend.

The anxiety of the past three days alone was enough to give Wally several new gray hairs, he was sure. As far as exhausting, stressful weeks go, this one took the cake.

He couldn't wait to get home, to escape classes and the threat of his teachers' knowledge hanging over his head. Aunt Iris had gotten permission from his mom to invite Dick and Roy over this weekend. So, once Wally finished his homework, he would be free to goof-off, fight crime, and just chill with his two best friends in the world.

Wally rushed through his homework like a madman as soon as he got to his room, completely winging it on some English essay about another boring book he never bothered to read, flying through four sets of math problems, and almost laughing at the easy chemistry homework assigned over the weekend.

Before long, he'd finished and was whirling around his room, quickly packing his duffel with his stuff. Of course, he made sure to grab his beloved yellow and red suit (and goggles), along with Modern Warfare. (Dick and Roy were in charge of bringing Call of Duty and Halo.) Topping it off with a bag of potato chips smuggled from the kitchen pantry, Wally zipped up his duffel and tossed it by the front door. "Mom! I'm heading over to Aunt Iris's place!" Wally called through the house.

His mother came downstairs from her bedroom with a smile. "Okay, mister. Have you done your homework?"

"Yes."

"Have you cleaned your room?"

"Yes, mom.

"Have you packed your toothbrush?"

" _Yes_ , mom!  _Geez_! TelldadIsaidhi, loveyoubye!" (His parents were pretty good at picking up on partial speed-talk by now.) After a quick peck on the cheek, Wally snatched up his duffel and was out the door in a flash.

 _Har har_ , another clichéd pun. Wally smiled wryly. He needed new jokes,  _badly_. Maybe Dick and Roy could help him out. He barely paced himself to a slow jog through the thin snow in his eagerness, pumped and ready for the chance to let off some steam.

A few minutes later, Wally pounded the doorbell to the Allen house with his fist, resisting the temptation to just barge in on his own. Aunt Iris opened the door with a smile. "Wally! Come on in, kiddo!"

Giving his aunt a hug, Wally entered the house, nearly buzzing with anticipation. "Are the others here yet?" he asked excitedly, dashing up the stairs to his room to dump his duffel bag before returning downstairs once more.

"Not yet, Wally. Patience, patience," Aunt Iris teased, patting him on the back as she passed by him.

 _Patience_. The flashback of his fishing trip with Uncle Barry came to mind, so did the related conversation about secret identities. Memories of that morning popped up to the surface, and Wally instantly felt guilty. Should he tell his aunt about that morning's big reveal?

Should he even tell Uncle Barry?

… No.

If Uncle Barry knew that Wally's cover was blown in a big way, he would have to pull Wally off the Team and take away any hope of a career as Kid Flash. Wally knew he was taking a huge gamble, but… his teachers seemed to be cool about it, so…

What Flash didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right? And he was off-world again tonight anyways, so Wally couldn't tell him even if he wanted to...

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.  _That must be Dick_ , Wally thought with a smile, his worries shoved aside for the meanwhile.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 19, 23:58 CST**

It was midnight in the darkened back alleys of Central City. The town was generally peaceful in the late hours, with hardly any cars on the roads and most of the citizens snuggled away in their beds.

Emphasis on  _most_.

Like all major cities in America, Central City had a vibrant nightlife in the not-so-nice parts of downtown. Even the relatively peaceful city with golden ideals had its dark, crude underbelly. Clubs and casinos were just opening up for business, including a local bar where the Rogues often sat down to plot their schemes over a beer or two.

But that wasn't where the action was tonight.

Twenty minutes ago, a bank had just been robbed by a small-time criminal called Grindle. He'd been thin enough and evidently desperate enough to sneak into the vaults through the air vents, making off with millions of dollars in cash. Careful not to leave a single fingerprint, the crook couldn't resist a snicker as he ran down the backstreets. No one was pursuing him, and no one could trace the crime back to him. He was in the homestretch.

But not for long.

Out of nowhere, an eerie, high-pitched cackle made the robber stop in his tracks. The laughter echoed in the alleyway, amplified by the narrow street's natural acoustics. It bounced off the walls of the adjacent buildings and the asphalt road underfoot, coming from all directions and making it impossible to pinpoint a source. After realizing he wasn't alone, Grindle turned and continued running, trying to pick up the pace but struggling with the weight of the money in the large black briefcase he clutched in his arms. He was panting before long, partly from fatigue and partly from the irking sensation that something was following him, unseen.

With a grunt of surprise, Grindle stumbled over a length of wire that had somehow wound itself between the base of a dumpster and the railing of a nearby fire escape. "Who put that there?" he groaned, picking himself up and preparing to run again.

But he froze at the sight of something gleaming and silver pointed in his direction. A tall, well-built archer, concealed by the thick shadows cast by the surrounding buildings, had materialized ten feet before the burglar's very eyes. His arms and hands were steady as he had soundlessly nocked an arrow in a large compound bow, and then raised it up to aim at the crook's face.

With a gulp, the burglar hid the briefcase protectively behind his back. "Wh-who are you? Ain't seen nobody like you 'round here before."

In a low, calculating voice, the archer replied, "Probably because I'm not from around here."

After a blink, Grindle spun around and ran back the way he came. But once again, his path was blocked. This figure was smaller than the archer, and thinner, but he dropped down from who knows how high into a silent crouch, landing on the balls of his feet and rising up in an agile, graceful manner, like some kind of performer. He, too, was hidden by the shadows and the concealment provided by a black cape that floated around him. "Hi," he said amusedly, but the cool tone of his voice sending shivers of fear down Grindle's back. The small performer crouched into a hand-to-hand combat stance. "Uh, just one quick question, though. Are you still planning on escaping on foot? Because if so…" he snickered softly.

Who were these freaks?

The crook was already fleeing down a side alley, leaving the two strangers behind him. Within minutes, Grindle had put several blocks of distance between them. Speed was on his side; he had always been a pretty fast runner.  _If he could just make it to the main street, he could vanish in the crowds—_

_Crap!_

Startled by a sudden flash of yellow and red darting across his vision, the burglar tripped over his own feet and went sprawling over the pavement, his briefcase full of stolen money skittering away from his grasp and sliding into one of the few residual patches of snow at the side of the alley.

The sound of approaching footsteps shook him out of his daze. From his position on the ground, all he could see was a pair of bright yellow boots. "Ooh, looks like you wiped out. Here, let me help you up." The criminal suddenly found himself lifted completely off the ground and thrown over someone's shoulder, and then his vision blurred, his hair whipping around his face like he was sticking his head of out a speeding car.

"What the?!" he barely had the chance to gasp before he was dumped unceremoniously on the ground three seconds later in a completely different part of town.

He whirled around to see Kid Flash standing over him with a half-smile. "Hey there, dude. I've got to admit, you're pretty fast. Although," the redheaded sidekick chuckled a little and gave a mock wince, "I guess not _nearly_  fast enough for this city, right?"

"K-Kid Flash? What are you doing here?" The thief felt a sense of dread. Not only had he been caught, but he'd been caught by the city's teenaged golden boy, a genuine  _superhero_.

Grindle did  _not_  sign up for this.

The redheaded speedster shrugged and replied, "Sorry it to break it to you man, but I, uh, I  _live_  here. This is kind of my city. And… look at that!" Kid Flash held up the briefcase in his hand, opening it to reveal the stolen dough. He frowned, eyes darting up to meet Grindle's. "You've just robbed it. Well. This just won't do, will it?" Kid Flash's green eyes behind that yellow cowl glittered angrily, almost murderously, reflecting the faint light of a distant streetlamp, and his voice dropped to a deep, raspy, almost feral growl.  _"Nobody steals from my city."_

Realizing he was in major trouble, the criminal crawled backwards in fear. "D-don't hurt me! I… I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"Really?" A voice came from behind the thief, and the graceful caped figure from earlier emerged from the shadows behind him, smirking and cracking his knuckles with loud popping noises. "Because it didn't seem that way when you were running from the law earlier."

Now that they were all in better lighting, Grindle recognized him. It was that other sidekick… Robin. But that didn't make any sense! Robin was supposed be with Batman, way out in  _Gotham_! What was he doing here?

"Uhh… L-l-look, fellas," the thief tried to reason with the two sidekicks. Putting his hands up in a defensive pose, he stuttered, "D-don't you wanna talk this out? I mean… it's just a few bucks, right?"

A deeper voice responded, "Five point eight million dollars doesn't sound like a 'few bucks' to me." It was the archer, and once the light from a streetlamp illuminated his face, Grindle could see that this was another sidekick, that one from Star City…

"Speedy?"

"No.  _Red Arrow_ ," the archer growled, raising his bow and tightening the bowstring threateningly. "Get it right."

"Sorry, sorry!"

Grindle had descended to complete panic mode. What were these three kids going to do?  _Kill him?_  He gawked in complete and total fear as Robin and Red Arrow walked to stand at Kid Flash's side, who had his arms crossed and glared down at the crook on the ground with his bright green eyes. The three crime fighters seemed to radiate pure intimidation, and Kid Flash in the middle especially looked ticked off beyond recognition… practically  _bloodthirsty_.

The burglar hadn't known the normally bright and cheery kid from TV could pull off that level of disgust and rage.

 _He was in deep shizz._  "Please! Please, don't kill me! I'll… I'll even turn myself in! Please!" Grindle pleaded, nearly breaking into hysterics.

"You're welcome to it," Kid Flash muttered in a low voice. "In fact, the police station is right around that corner. Take the money and hand it over to the Lieutenant personally." As he shoved the briefcase back into Grindle's hands, the speedster hissed into his ear, "Don't forget. We'll be watching. We. Are.  _Always_. Watching."

After a shocked second of pure terror, Grindle ran around the corner and practically threw himself into the police station, screeching at the top of his lungs, "Arrest me! Someone, please arrest me, arrest me  _now_!"

All of the officers on duty, some filing paperwork, some taking a coffee break, and some making calls as they worked on investigations, turned to stare at Lyle Grindle, a wanted man in four counties, who had just loudly handed himself over to their custody.

Officer Pool, a rookie who had just transferred to Central City's police force last week, was the only one who appeared genuinely shocked, however. He did a double take at the criminal, who was eagerly holding up his wrists to be cuffed by Lieutenant Fallsworth. Turning to his supervising officer, Pool asked confusedly, "Is this actually happening?"

Smirking in mild amusement, Officer Daniels didn't even glance up from her computer and took a sip of coffee. "Yep. They must be out again."

"They? Who's  _they_? Out doing what?" Pool questioned, raising his eyebrow at the expression of complete relief and bliss in Grindle's face as he was being led off to the interrogation room.

Daniels looked out the window with a sigh. "Sidekicks. Three of 'em. Team up sometimes, every few weeks or so. One of the few times a month where a crook'll be beggin' to be put behind bars. No one knows what those kids do to them, but we're not complaining. Makes our job easier." She shrugged and returned to her paperwork.

Meanwhile, Officer Pool scratched his head in wonder. He'd seen strange cities. Gotham was just creepy. But never had he seen a town where bad guys like Grindle seemed happy, even desperate, to be locked up for their crimes.

 _Only in Central City…_  He shook his head with a smile. Looks like he had a lot to learn about this place.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 0:05 CST**

After Grindle's dramatic arrest, there was a pause of silence for a few seconds as Kid Flash, Red Arrow, and Robin exchanged glances.

Then they burst into loud, unrestrained laughter.

"Oh my  _gosh_! Did you see the look on his face?" Robin sniggered, leaning against the wall and grinning widely.

Kid Flash was doubled over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air. "I think he peed himself!"

Even stoic Red Arrow was chuckling under his breath. "And the way he ran into the station? 'Arrest me! Arrest me  _now_!'" he mimicked, then cackled even harder.

Finally getting his breath back, Kid Flash ran his red-gloved hand through his hair and sighed in satisfaction. "Rob, dude, I swear, this whole 'impersonating Batman' thing  _never_  gets old!"

Sliding to the ground, Robin answered with a smirk, "Why do you think I suggest it? It adds aster to any patrol."

It was a tradition between the three friends. Whenever they had the whole weekend to themselves, they spent the Friday night patrol together, imitating the crime-stopping styles of each of their mentors. All three had to admit that mimicking the dark, intimidating, mysterious Batman was the best, especially when they got to have some fun with the crooks they caught.

At Red Arrow's signal, the three ascended up to the nearest building's roof – Robin shot his grappling hook, Red Arrow fired an arrow with a cord attached, and Kid Flash took a running start before sprinting straight up the brick surface.

Hanging out on roofs was another routine. Not only did it offer a bird's eye view of the city and any crimes in progress, but it also gave the three of them a quiet, undisturbed place to talk without fear of anyone listening in.

The November nighttime air was bone-chilling cold, and there were a few piles of gray snow piled up in the corners of the building's roof. Dick took his normal position of perching like a bird on his feet at the edge of the roof, ready to leap off at a moment's notice. Roy always kept his bow strung and ready, but he set it next to him as he sat down, his feet dangling over the edge. Between them, Wally sat with one leg dangling and one leg bent, resting his chin on his knee.

For a while, they just enjoyed the night sky, admiring the moon and the stars that were clearly seen above Central City, free of any smog or clouds to block their view. It was peaceful, restful even, something that each of them appreciated.

Finally, Dick spoke up. "You know, guys, we've got a pretty sweet gig here. Just look at us." He turned and smiled. "I mean, three heroes, together, just sitting up high in the sky, watching over the city below. No pressures, no expectations, no mentors breathing down our necks. Just…  _turbed_ , you know?"

After a pause, Roy scoffed, "Way to get sappy, Robin." But the archer's small smirk betrayed him.

Wally remained oddly quiet. Now that they were at a lull in the action of the evening, his thoughts kept rewinding to that moment of complete, sinking dread that morning, when he felt his heart beat actually stop, and for a good minute, he had genuinely thought his life was over. He had come so close,  _so close_ , to losing everything and everyone he cared about. At the very least, he would have to give up his suit, along with any ties he had to the rest of the Team. And he would lose his connections with Roy and Dick. He would lose nights like tonight with the two friends that were practically brothers.

Knowing how unbearably close he came to losing it all had Wally pretty shaken up.

"Hey, what's eating you, dude?" Dick elbowed Wally in the shoulder. "You're not looking very concerted."

Wally looked at his two companions on either side of him. To think he could have lost them… just like  _that_ …

"Hey! Kid Airhead! Anybody home?" Dick was snapping his fingers in front of Wally's face, trying to get his attention.

Wally needed to tell  _somebody_. He needed to get this off his chest. And while he would normally go to Uncle Barry for stuff like this, Uncle Barry was one of the people who couldn't ever find out. Wally kept looking between Dick and Roy, who were now staring at him like he had four heads.

These two were all Wally had. They deserved to know.

"Guys," he began, inhaling in preparation. "I need to tell you something. And I need you both to promise to never, ever,  _ever_  tell anyone. No one on the Team. Not even the Flash, or anyone else in the League. And espec-…  _especially_  not Batman. Nobody.  _Promise_?"

"Well, sure, KF. Promise," Roy replied. Dick nodded in agreement.

But Wally grabbed each of their shoulders in desperation. "I'm dead serious. Swear on it."

"Okay, dramatic much?" Dick joked, but at the look in Wally's face, he soberly answered, "Sure, we swear, man. What's got you so worked up?"

 _Deep breath, Wall-man. You can trust these guys. You're safe now._  "Okay. So this morning, I went to school early, and…"

Neither Dick nor Roy said anything or reacted at all as Wally explained the faculty meeting and the aftermath. They sat in equally stone-still silence as they waited for him to share the entire story and all the details. Wally looked straight ahead at the city skyline as he poured his heart out, the tension he'd been carrying all day slowly fading away, his shoulders relaxing.

When he finished, Wally squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see either of his friends' faces. He imagined that Dick and Roy were having a silent conversation of stares and expressions over Wally's head, discussing without a need for words.

In the end, it was Roy who spoke up first, placing a firm, familiar hand on Wally's shoulder. "I've got to admit, KF. That's some pretty deep crap you've gotten yourself into. But… I made a promise, and I stick by that. Now, I know  _I'm_  not going to tell Ollie anything. Heck, I don't even see the man on a regular basis anymore. Besides, I wouldn't tell anyone anyways. So you're secret's safe with me."

Roy nodded at Dick, who continued in quiet, careful voice, "Same here, Kid. We're bros; I'm not snitching. Keeping something like  _this_  from Batman will be a challenge, but it won't be the first time. I think we all remember the Skateboard Fiasco two years ago. As far as I know, Batman  _still_  doesn't know about that. Which is pretty impressive, if I do say so myself." Dick smirked elbowing Wally in the shoulder.

Roy then grabbed both of Wally's shoulders and turned him so that they were eye-to-eye, face-to-face. "So you don't have us to worry about. We're here for you, no matter what. The question is, should you tell Flash about this yourself?" Wally opened his mouth to object, and Roy quickly cut him off. "I'm not saying that you have to, or that we're going to pressure you into it. But just… take the time to consider the safety of your Team, and the safety of your mentor, for that matter. You're an exposed hero now. Granted, it looks like your identity is safe with your teachers, but you still don't have the same level of ambiguity that everyone else does. And that makes you the biggest security risk for the entire  _League_  at the moment."

"I know that," Wally moaned. "But I… I  _need_  this, guys. I  _need_  Kid Flash. If I don't…If I  _can't_ …" Wally rubbed his hands over his face in exasperation.

Roy nodded. "And we understand that, too. So we'll protect you, and we'll look out for you. You would do the same for us. But just know that it'll be up to you whether or not you need to let the League know about this if you run into issues in the future. And if that ever happens, we'll be there for you then as well." Roy made a face. "Now  _I'm_  getting sappy. But you get the point, KF."

"We've got your back, dude. Count on it." Dick smiled at Wally.

Wally slumped in relief. "Thanks, guys."

"So we're good?" Dick asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good."

Roy smirked. "Okay then. In that case—"

He nodded at Dick, who promptly slapped Wally upside the head  _hard_. "You moron! Exposed to every single teacher in your  _entire school_? I've said it before and I'll say it again; you're as subtle as a train wreck, you know that?"

Roy put Wally in a headlock, giving him a rough noogie and messing up his hair's intentional windswept look. "Seriously, are you freaking kidding?! How the heck did this happen? Did you spray paint a yellow shirt in red letters 'I'm Kid Flash!' and parade around the front of the school? Geez, Flashboy! Way to keep a secret."

Despite the ribbing from his friends, Wally couldn't help but laugh. These guys were two of the most trustworthy people he knew. He felt so much better now, and even Dick and Roy's joking taunts were a source of comfort.

Now positive that both his teachers and his friends were going to keep their promise, Wally grinned up at the stars, filled with euphoria.

_Things were going to turn out okay after all._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 3:31 CST**

By the time their night patrol finished a couple hours later, Kid Flash, Robin, and Red Arrow had foiled three more robberies, stopped four attempted assaults, and even helped get a kid's cat down from a tree.

Yawning, Wally swung his arms above his head. "Looks like we're ready to wrap this up, guys. You two can head back to Uncle Barry's house and get Modern Warfare going. I'll make one last round and catch up with you later." Dick gave him a thumbs up, and then the two were zipping away towards Uncle Barry's neighborhood in the Danville district of the city.

Wally made another run around the city, snacking on a bag of pretzels, courtesy of the Flash Food Initiative. Patrolling Central City's streets at night in November was a bit more of a challenge than usual. The cold was starting to kick in, for one. Granted, it was nothing like his cross-country trek carrying Queen Perdita's heart last week. But it was still chilly.

And the ice and snow that tended to pop up every now and then on the asphalt was enough to make him skid if he wasn't careful. Wally knew how to run on ice – it involved a certain method of running on the balls of his feet and monitoring your weight distribution – but even now he had trouble decelerating. Unlike the Flash, Wally found it close to impossible to stop on a dime on normal terrain, forced to slow down considerably before stopping instead. And the slick surface of the pavement that night made it even more difficult.

So maybe it was the cold, or the ice combined with his speed, or the few remaining thoughts about his exposure that was distracting him. Maybe it was the worn-down treads in his running boots (he was due for a new pair soon). Maybe it was the faint itching sensation in the boomerang wound on his arm that still bothered him infrequently, catching him off guard.

Whatever the reason, Wally managed to lose his traction on the road, trip at high speeds over the curb, and fly off the road completely, sprawling headfirst into a brick wall on the side of a large, impressive house with an audible  _thunk_. "Oww…" he moaned, clutching his head in pain. The teen speedster groggily pulled his goggles onto his forehead, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his blurred vision.

Another concussion, probably. It was the seventy-ninth one this year. He counted.

_Perfect. Way to be graceful, Kid Klutz._

Though, to be fair, Wally would take a concussion over English homework any day.

As he struggled to his feet, he staggered and had to lean against the brick wall as he gathered his bearings. He was in Windsor Heights, in the southwest region of Central City. It was a pretty affluent area, home to the city's millionaires and even a few billionaires. Come to think of it, Wally was pretty sure Hartley's family lived out here somewhere. The Rathaways were among the city's wealthiest families, something that Hartley downplayed as much as possible in school.

Wally pressed his way along the wall slowly, not trusting his balance yet. He must have hit that house  _really_  hard. He really needed to stop using his head as a battering ram…

He stopped in his tracks at the light sound of footsteps somewhere nearby. Spinning around in a full circle, Wally's eyes scanned the area. The house he was clinging to for support was positioned right next to a small park, filled with several trees and bushes. Across the street was another house that looked more like a small mansion, a Lamborghini parked in the driveway. The road and sidewalk were well-lit, and extravagant rod-iron fences and gates surrounded the properties of the homes on the street.

Nothing was in sight. But Wally still got the prickling feeling at the back of his neck that couldn't ignore. He was being watched.

He reached up with his left hand, his right arm still braced against the wall, and pulled his goggles back down over his eyes. Switching to infrared, Wally scanned the surrounding area again. Anything living in the vicinity would show up yellow and orange…

 _There._  Something, or someone, was hidden in the bushes in the park. Wally carefully moved away from the wall and began to approach the park. It was extremely dark once he left the lights of the street, and Wally was thankful for the infrared sights build into his goggles.  _Technology rules._

"Hi," he asked cautiously. "I can see you in there. Come on out." He wasn't sure if this was a small child, lost and far from home, or if it was a starving homeless person in need of a meal, but he was always on duty and ready to help…

When the figure rose to their feet, it was clear that it was not a child. It was at least five foot ten, roughly two inches taller than Wally, and didn't say anything as it approached him.

 _What the…?_  Wally took an involuntary step backward, warily eyeing the stranger as it emerged from the bushes of the park. He continued to back up as the figure came closer, intending to draw it out into the light. But the stranger stopped just out of range from the full light of the streetlamp, instead standing there and staring Wally down.

Wally pulled up his goggles again, eyes squinting as they adjusted to the dim lighting that cast just enough of a glow to show the figure's outline and basic appearance.

It had the body type and broader shoulders of a male, and judging by the strength, steadiness and deliberation in his movements, a man on the younger side. His arms were crossed as he stood unmoving in the darkness. He was dressed in mostly black, a form-fitting suit that looked like some hybrid of Kevlar and Spandex (similar to the material in Wally's own suit), but had hints of green accents in his gloves and the straps across his chest. His face was completely hidden by the shadow cast by an entirely green hood that extended into a cape around him. Around his waist was a silver belt with… was that a  _flute_  or something? Pretty weird thing to carry around…

Now, Wally was no expert, but he had a feeling that the person he was facing wasn't just an ordinary citizen. That left two options: good guy or bad guy?

He cleared his throat.  _Just cut to the chase. It's getting really late, and Dick and Roy are waiting back at Uncle Barry's house._  "Uh, hi. I'm Kid Flash. Who're you?"

The stranger said nothing, but uncrossed his arms, one hand reaching down slowly towards his flute-thingy.

"Um… right," Wally said awkwardly. "So, uh… Are you from around here?"

Again, the figure was silent, their fingers now rubbing the buttons-things on the flute like it was a security blanket or something.  _Okay, bordering on creepy here…_

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you or anything. I'm just wondering what you're doing out here at this time of night." Wally shrugged nonchalantly. The figure didn't move or speak. Wally sighed. "Okay. Your business is your business. As long as you're not causing trouble, I'm not going to bother you. Just… can I at least get a name? I don't think I've seen you before."

There was a pause, and then the figure finally spoke, his voice low in pitch and quiet, almost a whisper. "Pied Piper," he said, something about his voice seeming oddly familiar. Wally couldn't put his finger on it.

 _The Pied Piper…_  Yeah, Wally definitely had never met this guy. But he still knew the name and reputation, hearing it in one of Uncle Barry's many stories. The Pied Piper was one of the Rogues, kind of. Only beginning his career earlier that year, in 2010, he had never been caught by the police and had very loose ties to the Rogues. He mostly pulled off small, solo heists, relying on his covert skills to get the goods and escape undetected. The few times he was involved in anything large-scale, he was associated with the Rogues, and he always made sure to distance himself from them otherwise, never hanging out in the Rogues' bar unless absolutely necessary.

Local rumor had it that the Piper was something of a specialist when it came to crime. He didn't take dirty jobs, only ones that required his expertise in stealth and surveillance. He liked to stay under the radar, for the most part, working the underground criminal network and doing most of his work at night.

Yet, like most villains, he had a calling card – a trademark that set him apart from any other criminal on the planet. The Pied Piper was a musician of sorts, able to manipulate sound with his flute and sonic technology to get the better of his opponents.

Knowing how much Hartley enjoyed flute music, Wally had asked him about the Piper one day, and his friend had smiled. "Yeah, I've heard of that guy. I know he's a criminal and all, but you've gotta admit," Hartley had said, "the dude's got style. And his music kicks butt—literally." Wally had snickered and shrugged. You couldn't argue with that.

Even the Flash, equipped with superspeed, was unable to resist the Piper's music so far. If Uncle Barry couldn't handle this guy, then what the heck could Wally do?

That flute… By now, the Piper had whipped the flute from his belt and was holding it near his mouth. He was about to play.  _Turds_. Wally made a move to spring forward and stop him, or to run out of hearing range, but then the first few notes reached his ears…

Wally had no idea what to expect. Probably something like Black Canary's cry, he figured. (Sadly, he'd been on the receiving end of that earth-shattering scream more times than he'd care to admit.) He was anticipating a giant shock wave of sound, a harsh, ear-pounding noise that would blow him off his feet or something.

What he got instead was… beautiful... elegant… almost dainty… high trilling notes that crescendoed… and decrescendoed… a melody that… that almost…. almost seemed to… scatter… scatter his…. his thoughts…

Wally blinked.

And blinked again.

And again, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

_The Pied Piper was gone. Vanished._

He knew the man didn't have superspeed, so… how? Wally had been looking right at him! How could he just disappear?

Was it the music? Did it somehow… Geez, did it  _hypnotize_  him or something?

Wally groaned, fingers rubbing his temples. Now he  _really_  had a headache. He checked the clock on his gauntlet. Wow, it was late, later than he was expecting to be out. He was ready to run home, eat five pizzas, and play video games with Roy and Dick.

Sparing one last glance around the area before concluding that the Piper had completely vacated the vicinity, Wally pulled his goggles down once more over his eyes before stepping back onto the road and running – carefully – back to Uncle Barry and Aunt Iris's house.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 4:06 CST**

"Dick, you're cheating again!"

"Prove it, Flashboy."

"There is  _no way_  that tiny handgun you're using has that much ammo and unlimited reloads!"

"Maybe I'm just that awesome."

"Yeah? And maybe I'm the  _President of the freaking United States_!"

"Would you both just  _shut up and play_? I don't see how you can manage to survive the rest of this level when you're  _hitting each other with the controllers_!"

Video games get really intense between the three teen heroes. Especially at four in the morning on a Saturday.

In the back of his mind, even as he was playing through Modern Warfare and then Halo with his best friends on Uncle Barry's couch, Wally couldn't shake the plain  _weirdness_  of that encounter with the Pied Piper. As far as first meetings go, it started strange and ended even stranger, and Wally still had a bit of a migraine thanks to whatever that music momentarily did to his brain. It was already fading away though, so at least it wasn't permanent.

But why did the Pied Piper do that? Wally hadn't caught him red-handed in a crime or anything, so what would he… Was he trying to protect something? Some secret of his own, maybe? Wally couldn't be the only one in the world who had to hide a part of himself from others.

Huffing in frustration as he died yet again on Halo and had to wait to respawn, Wally tried to convince himself not to let Piper's actions bug him too much. This was  _his_  weekend with  _his_  friends after a  _long_  week, and some weirdo with a flute wasn't going to ruin it. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, one last little thought kept wriggling around in his mind but didn't make any sense, since he was basing his impressions off of a shadowy silhouette, a reputation, and a whisper. But of this, Wally was certain.

There was something very familiar about the Pied Piper.


	11. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two sides to every coin.
> 
> Everyone knows Wally West and his journey to becoming the lovable, flashy young speedster of Central City. Yet, another redheaded teenager at Keystone High took a very different path to where he is now.
> 
> Enter Hartley Rathaway, aka the Pied Piper.

**11**

**INTERLUDE**

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 20, 3:56 CST**

There are generally two reasons why a person will sneak into a house in the wee hours of a Saturday morning. One, a teenager will be returning home after a night out without their parents' knowledge. Or two, a criminal will be searching for a prime place to lie low after a long night of work in the city. In either case, that person will focus all of their energy and attention on entering the house with the highest level of stealth possible. They will avoid detection at all costs.

In those early hours before dawn, this concept particularly applied to Hartley Rathaway, who just so happened to fit both of these cases.

After checking to make sure he was alone on the street, the hooded teen darted towards his home, bracing his legs to jump up and grab the lowest limb of a massive magnolia tree that stood beside a large white mansion. Careful and agile, Hartley climbed with hands and feet up the trunk of the tree, and then shimmied across a large branch before dropping down again. He soundlessly landed on the balls of his feet on a small balcony outside of a large glass door. With expert movements, he slowly eased the sliding door open and slipped inside, gently closing it behind him.

In no time at all, Hartley was tiptoeing down the corridors of the mansion, his boots carrying him over the hardwood flooring without a sound. He definitely didn't want anyone in the house to catch him  _now_ , especially when he was dressed like this.

The black and green getup would be a little tough to explain.

At last, Hartley reached his bedroom and snuck inside, turning the lock with the faintest, most secretive click possible. There. The Pied Piper's night was finally over. With a frustrated groan, Hartley flopped backwards onto his bed, the hood on his cloak flying off of his head and exposing his red hair and blue eyes. He rubbed his face tiredly.  _That was a much longer night than expected._ After lying on his back for a few minutes, Hartley sat up and turned to look in the mirror across the room.

His eyes were red from exhaustion, and his movements were sluggish by this point. He needed rest, badly. But first, Hartley told himself, he needed to change out of his uniform. With a sigh, he rolled off the bed and started to pull off the first boot.

When Hartley had left his home hours earlier, he never imagined he'd be out this late. His plan had been to pull a three-hour stakeout at an electronics warehouse out in the Lawrence Hills industrial region of the city, gathering intel on the night guards for a side job he was prepping in a couple weeks. Then he'd walked across town to his favorite pizza joint in the shady district of the city, barely avoiding Kid Flash, who was dashing down a backstreet with a bankrobber over his shoulder and a grin on his face. After enjoying an extremely late dinner and dessert, Hartley then trekked all the way back south towards his house in the suburbs of Windsor Heights, pickpocketing eight different people at various crosswalks along the way.

All in all, it was a pretty average Friday night for him. He had been more than ready to top it off by crawling into his bed and sleeping like a baby.

With a frown, Hartley tugged the other boot off and tossed the pair into the steel safe he kept shoved under his bed. Then he unbuttoned his hooded cloak from his shoulders and started unzipping his way out of the rest of the uniform.

The last thing the Pied Piper had anticipated as he made his way down the sidewalk towards his house earlier was for Kid Flash to come roaring down the road and dive headfirst into the side of the Langley's house. Hartley had shuddered at the loud thud from the speedster's painful collision, and then quickly ducked into some nearby bushes for cover.  _Don't turn around, don't turn around_ , he thought nervously. He didn't want to have to face Kid Flash.  _Not here, not now. It wasn't time yet. It was too soon. Too soon!_

But his wishes had gone unanswered.

Kid Flash seemed to instantly know someone else was nearby, and then he pulled those red goggles over his eyes and spotted Hartley's position immediately.  _Don't come closer, don't come closer…_  But the other redhead did, and even started attempting conversation. Did Kid Flash know who he was talking to?  _Did he know Hartley's identity?_

Hartley slowly emerged from the bushes, grateful for the shadows cast by the trees and careful to pull his hood lower over his face. Judging by the way Kid Flash backed away from him, he figured his secret was still safe. So far.

Now he just had to keep it that way.

Seeing how Kid Flash had backed up into the glow of a streetlamp, Hartley was careful to stay in the protection of the darkness. The speedster had pulled his goggles back up onto his forehead, revealing his startling green eyes. Then he started talking to him, trying to get him to open up.

"Uh, hi. I'm Kid Flash. Who're you?"

 _That's the problem. You already know me._  Hartley barely kept himself from trembling, nervously reaching down to his flute. Should he do the unthinkable?

"… Are you from around here?"

If he did that, there was no going back. Right now, Kid Flash only knew the Pied Piper as some stranger he found in the woods at night, neither good nor evil as far as he was concerned. But once he pulled his weapon on the speedster, Hartley would instantly become an enemy. Would he do that?  _Could_  he even do that to Kid Flash, this guy, his  _friend_? As he battled with indecision, Hartley's fingers brushed against the keys on his flute.

"Just… can I at least get a name? I don't think I've seen you before."

_Make a choice, Hartley._

Before he could stop himself, Hartley replied, "Pied Piper." As soon as he said it, he felt straight-up stupid.  _Why'd you give him a name to remember, moron?_

While Kid Flash looked like he was stewing over this information, Hartley was already wrapping his fingers around the flute, unhooking it from the latch on his belt, and habitually raising it up to position.

This was it. No turning back.

After inhaling, Hartley started to play. It was a familiar tune, one that he'd perfected and used time and time again, even on the Flash himself. A melody that was organized and executed specifically to target and block certain aural nerve synapses in the brain, effectively placing the listener into a very brief coma.

His own form of musical hypnosis.

In seconds, Kid Flash was frozen in place, staring ahead, unblinking and unresponsive. Hartley knew he needed to make his getaway while he still could, and yet… he lingered.

After a thought, he approached Kid Flash doubtfully. Even now, he had a hard time believing he was looking at Wally West. Kid Flash was confident,  _so confident_ , almost to the point of being cocky whenever he was in the news. And Wally was quiet and very, very shy. Kid Flash was flashy and loved being the center of attention – he ran around at high speeds in bright yellow and red, for Pete's sake! Meanwhile, Wally was understated and literally hid himself behind his desk in class to avoid being noticed.

But, despite the seemingly huge differences, there was still something undeniable that linked the two beings together.

_The eyes._

Hartley knew his friend's eyes.

The greenest, brightest, most lively and distinctive eyes anyone would ever meet. Eyes that could make you laugh. Eyes that could intimidate you with their intelligence. Eyes that could see right through you, could cut to your soul.

Hartley  _knew_  those eyes. And the more he walked around Kid Flash, analyzing the unmoving speedster, the more he noticed the similarities with Wally. The spiky red hair was a no-brainer. The freckles, the way his face twisted when he was in deep thought. And the certain way his weight was balanced evenly between both feet – a stance that all speedsters seemed to share. Yeah, this was definitely Wally. Any doubts he might have had… This officially sealed the deal. Hartley huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked home, unsure of how to move on from here with his mission.

_So it begins._

Hartley put on some pajamas, locked up the safe before stowing it away under his bed, and buried himself under the covers to catch as many Zs as he could. Though, a few hours later he was jolted out of a deep sleep by the sharp rapping of knuckles against his door. "Master Hartley? Your breakfast is ready in the dining room," one of the servants called from out in the hallway.

 _Morning already?_  He yawned and stumbled his way out of bed, having some trouble opening the door before realizing he needed to unlock it first. Yup, he was still tired.

Hartley could already tell that this was going to be a long day.

* * *

As much as some people trust in free will and the power of personal choices to shape the future, others believe that one's life is pre-destined. There are some things that are simply beyond one's control and unstoppable, irreversible.  _That_  is the nature of fate.

Sixteen years ago, publishing industry mogul Osgood Rathaway and his wife Rachel were delighted when they discovered they were going to have a baby. Over the next nine months, they spent hundreds of thousands of dollars preparing a nursery, complete with state-of-the-art furnishings and the most qualified nanny money could buy.

The well-off couple spared no expense.

When the Great Day came and the doctors prepared Rachel for the delivery room, her husband grasped her hand and squeezed it. "You're going to be fine, sweetheart," he whispered to her comfortingly. This was the best hospital in the Midwest; if there was a perfect place to have a baby, it was here. Several hours later, Hartley Ian Rathaway was brought into the world. He was a relatively small baby, with the ginger hair of his mother and the blue eyes of his father, and with the weight of a family dynasty already resting on his infant shoulders.

It was fate that he was born into the Rathaway family tree.

For a while, everything did actually seem to be perfect in Osgood and Rachel's eyes. They were wealthy, famous, and envied in all their social circles for their golden lifestyle and their adorable baby boy. But, roughly a year later, the nanny began to notice something peculiar about baby Hartley. She quietly met with the parents in a secluded room of the mansion, away from any potentially eavesdropping servants in the house, and shared her thoughts.

"No! That… that's impossible!" the father objected.

The nanny was calm as she explained, "I'm only speculating, Mr. and Mrs. Rathaway. But the signs are there. When I call out to him, he doesn't respond. He has difficulty following simple commands, and he only recognizes I'm with him when he can see me."

The mother hissed, shaking her head emphatically. "Maybe… maybe you're just not doing your job properly! Our boy is perfectly fine, look at him!" She gestured wildly at Hartley, who was playing with some toy cars on the floor a few feet away, with not a care in the world.

"Ma'am, please try to understand. I'm only suggesting you have him checked by a doctor—"

"Pointless!" the father spat.

"—to make sure there aren't any… problems with his development."

The couple only fumed at the nurse. After a minute, the father closed his eyes and responded in a steel voice, "I believe the only problem for our boy's development is you, Ms. Settle. Consider this your notice of dismissal."

The nanny gaped in shock. "You… You're  _firing_  me, sir?"

The father stood to his feet and looked at her with finality in his cold blue eyes. "You will receive your final paycheck for the month in the mail. But feel free to see yourself off the premises. And… as quickly as possible, if you don't mind."

Stammering, the nanny glanced at Hartley, who was still innocently pushing his cars across the floor. She had her suspicions about the boy almost as soon as his birth. It was clear that there was something different about him, though she wasn't quite sure what that was. She decided that she would need to tell his parents, since they most likely didn't know anything either.

Those two spent more time partying at social gatherings than getting to know their own son.

But  _never_  would she have guessed that they'd not only refuse to listen to her concerns, but fire her on the spot, too! And little Hartley was going to be left alone with these people… Now angry, the nanny spun, pointed in the Rathaways' faces, and whispered with a threatening tone in her voice, "Okay, fine.  _Fine_. Look, I don't care if you get rid of me at this point. I will walk right out of that door immediately. But for the love of all that is holy… Have. That. Boy. Checked." Without another word, she stormed out of the room and was driving away from the white mansion minutes later. She never returned.

Osgood and Rachel were left in the secluded room, now staring down at the toddler on the floor.

A month later, they did decide to take Hartley to the pediatrician's office. Just as the nanny predicted, he failed the hearing tests. The doctor explained how it was unusual for such a thing to have existed in an infant for so long undetected, but the evidence was there.

Hartley Rathaway had been born deaf.

That had been his predetermined fate.

Yet, the first thought that crossed Rachel and Osgood's mind once they received the diagnosis was not,  _Oh, our poor baby!_  Nor was it,  _What's our first step in helping the boy manage?_

It was,  _What will the neighbors say?_

Though their motivations were severely skewed, the Rathaway couple began to pull every string in their web of influence. They made endless phone calls, traveled around the nation, and around the world, searching for anyone who could erase their big problem. They needed someone to fix this. But Hartley's particular form of hearing loss was a rare type, one that traditional medical research had not found a solution to yet. For years, their searching went in vain, and Hartley grew older, learning sign language with the assistance of the new nanny since his parents couldn't be bothered.

And then the day came, that fateful day, when a certain Dr. William Magnus returned the Rathaways' phone call, answering that yes, with his new groundbreaking research, he would be able to perform a series of surgical procedures on Hartley to restore his hearing. However, the cost of his expertise and cutting-edge technology would be high, Magnus cautioned the parents. The price tag would be in the millions.

Not even blinking, Osgood and Rachel jumped on the opportunity at once, desperate for this much-needed rescue for their social life. They were tired of the pitying glances whenever they brought Hartley to dinners and the sympathetic Christmas cards asking how the "poor child" was managing. Enough was enough. The pride of the family name was at stake.

In a whirlwind of anesthesia, pain, and medication, five-year-old Hartley found himself in and out of surgery and recovery rooms for the entire summer. For a while after the surgeries, Hartley's sense of hearing showed no signs of improvement. But he had long learned to be patient. He could wait a lifetime for something like this.

And then, one day, the small, redheaded boy reading a book while lying in a hospital bed suddenly experienced a new, strange sensation. It started soft, but very noticeable to a child who had lived the first years of his life in silence, and then grew in volume. His ears could pick up  _everything_.

The beeping of a heart monitor.

The whir of the air conditioning unit above his head.

The chatter of conversations out in the hospital hallway.

Even the ruffling sound of the book pages between his fingers.

But above all, the most stunning new sound that reached his ears was the sweet, harmonious noises of a symphony orchestra playing over the intercom. That delicacy, that power, that… unfamiliar stirring in his soul; this was something Hartley had only read about in novels.

This.

Was.

 _Music_.

The doors to a new dimension, one dominated and revolving entirely around sound, were opened at last. And from that moment, Hartley's fate changed in a completely new direction.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 7:40 CST**

Unlike most of his coworkers in the police force, Barry Allen had no "off-duty" days from justice. Even on weekends like this, when he earned a couple days off from work after a week of successfully cracked cases, the blonde forensic scientist would hang up his lab coat only to spin into his Flash uniform and get ready for a day of crime-fighting in a different manner. It was a demanding way of life, and he came home most nights worn-out and starving – sometimes literally.

But Barry wouldn't have it any other way. Thankfully, Iris – that goddess of eternal patience – understood him and his need to be away most of the time. Barry counted himself as the luckiest man in the world. Maybe even the universe, who knows? He'd ask Hal sometime.

After getting out of bed and making himself a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, Barry kissed his wife goodbye and started his morning patrol. Briefly, he had considered inviting Wally to join him, but Kid had already taken the night shift with his friends, and he thought the three were entitled to a well-deserved Saturday free from hero duties. So he scoured the city for crime on his own, something he had been doing long before his sidekick – scratch that,  _partner_  – joined the ranks.

Weird thing was, the streets were oddly quiet. There was hardly any illegal activity to be found.

As Barry took care of a couple of petty crimes, simply chasing down a clumsy purse-snatcher and foiling a badly-executed gunpoint robbery at a jewelry store, he couldn't help but wonder what was going on in the criminal underworld. All the heavy-hitters in his Rogues Gallery were engaging in very few acts of organized crime lately. Especially after such an eventful few months. It was like the calm before a storm.

The only thing that stood out was that one incident at the Flash Museum a few days ago. Sure enough, as soon as Barry had signed off on the forensics document in the file and sent it to the court judge for the prosecution, the four Rogues had been sentenced to do time at a prison. That was expected.

At first, they were going to be sent to Belle Reve Penitentiary, down in Louisiana. However, based on the League's recent suspicions of the security there – for instance, Cold had been in and out of that "maximum-security" prison several times since July – Barry had given the Flash's recommendation that the four prisoners be sent somewhere other than Belle Reve. That left Iron Heights Penitentiary and Arkham Asylum.

In the end, the court had assigned them to Arkham, something that still made Barry uneasy. He knew that a simple museum heist definitely didn't equate to the brutality in  _Iron Heights_ , but Arkham's security was… laughable. Heck, the Joker was able to practically walk in and out of that place any day of the week. Easily. But there weren't many other alternatives, and the Rogues were loaded onto an express train car that immediately began the day-and-a-half journey to Gotham.

Anyways, Barry had learned by now not to complain when his job became easier because of a lull in crime. He finished his morning patrol in a timely manner and then Zeta-beamed up to the Watchtower for the League meeting at noon.

* * *

**THE WATCHTOWER  
November 20, 11:53 EST**

Batman was there the instant he stepped onto the main deck. "You're here early," the Dark Knight commented as they walked together down the hall to the meeting room.

Barry grinned. "Yeah, I know, right? Central City's been pretty quiet. I haven't been on time to a meeting in… how long?" The Flash hummed in thought as he tried to remember.

"Never. The answer you're looking for is  _never_ ," Batman responded in his gruff voice.

"Ah. Well. First time for everything, hmm?" Barry chuckled. "Anyways, it looked like you were waiting for me. Something wrong?"

Batman stopped outside the meeting room door, turning to look him in the eye, err, cowl. "I have a contact on the Arkham Asylum staff, Aaron Cash. He gave me a call this morning about an issue regarding the transit of your four Rogues."

 _Well, there's a shocker._  The Flash sighed. "Let me guess. The train never arrived?"

"No, the train arrived. They just weren't on board."

 _That was going to be his second guess._  "Honestly, I'm not surprised at all," Barry said, rubbing his face in exasperation. "So, somewhere between Missouri and New Jersey in the past twenty-four hours, four of my most high-profile villains have gone AWOL. That's… that's just great." Frowning, he looked up at Batman, crossing his arms. "Look, Bats. I know you've got cameras covering every inch of the globe, and then some. Do you mind keeping an eye out and letting me know when you get a lock on their location?"

Batman nodded once. "Consider it done."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 9:16 CST**

"Young man, your father asked you a question!" Hartley's mother snapped. Hartley jumped, startled from his thoughts… or maybe he had been dozing off, it was hard to tell the difference.

His family was seated around a typical breakfast feast, with his father staring disapprovingly at Hartley from his seat across the table. At his right, his mother primly ate another bite of her omelet, darting glances at Hartley from the corner of her eye with barely-veiled disgust, like he was stray dog they'd been guilt-tripped to invite inside for a meal.

And She was seated on his left, watching him carefully.

Hartley cleared his throat quickly and said, "I'm sorry, sir, can you repeat that?"

"I was asking," the man said, taking a sip of his coffee, "if you would be joining us at the Autumn's End Gala this evening? It's at the Strauss Ballroom downtown."

Swallowing his mouthful, Hartley paused before replying, "Mm, that's alright. I'll pass. I'd rather stay home."

Silence.  _Wrong answer._

His father's voice hardened. "Allow me to rephrase that. You  _will_  be joining us at the gala this evening. You will be ready to depart with us in the limo at six thirty sharp, dressed in black tie attire, and prepared to make a positive impression on the other guests there. You will arrive at the gala, and you will mingle, and you will make connections that you so dearly need to succeed in this world. You will perform one of your little flute tunes to please the guests. And you will leave the gala only when we give you permission."

' _Little flute tunes'? Seriously?_  Hartley groaned, already battling with a rising headache. "Dad, you know I hate going to these things. Everyone there is either a business associate or freaking royalty, and they're all old farts and/or sleazy billionaires. Not really my scene."

"Well," his mother said with frustration evident in her voice, "then you'll be happy to know that there will be other young men your age at this event. You can find 'your scene' with them."

"Mom, last time you said that, the guys were twenty-nine-year-old  _Vlatavan_   _dukes_  who didn't even know who Macklemore was-."

Hartley's father said, "You're going." And that was that. You can't argue with the man. It just can't be done.

Hartley resigned himself to yet another night of drowning in near-toxic clouds of cologne and perfume, trying and failing to mingle with the bluebloods of society, and ultimately spending his Saturday alone and miserable.

And all through his debate with his parents, She never said a word.

* * *

From those first few seconds in the hospital room when his world did a 180, young Hartley completely submersed himself in music. Gaining this new sense led to a full-fledged exploration in all things sound. He bought an iPod and earphones and before long, the rest of life on the planet lost its appeal to him. Symphonic masterpieces, musicals, songs on the radio, and movies finally gave a voice to the words of lyrics and scripts that he had read in the past. He enjoyed learning the phonetics of spoken language and hearing his own voice when he practiced talking with a speech pathologist for the first couple years.

In time, he found his favorite sound in this world of noise: the high, masterfully delicate whistle of a flute.

And so, he learned to play.

Hartley didn't take well to the lessons from flute teachers his parents hired for him – not out of love, but because he had no other interests for them to show off at parties – so he began self-teaching himself the instrument. Through playing by ear, reading books on music theory, and simple experimentation, Hartley had totally mastered the instrument by age ten.

And once he did, he found that he had a natural gift for something that went beyond simple musical skill.

The first incident was at an elementary school recital. As the best flutist in the children's' orchestra by far, Hartley was given the honor of a solo he had composed himself that would be showcased in the final piece. By now, he was comfortable with performing in front of people, and he stepped forward when he heard his cue in the piece, spotlight nearly blinding him on the stage. But he closed his eyes, raised his flute, and just as he did in practice, Hartley began to play. He followed the path of his music in his mind, effortlessly riding through the staccatos and legatos of the solo, fingers and breath moving in unison. He was focused only on the music.

So it wasn't until he was about halfway through the solo that Hartley realized the orchestra had stopped playing behind him. And in front of him, the audience was still – no,  _asleep_! The redheaded boy spun around towards the orchestra, still playing his flute, and nearly faltered when he saw that all of his classmates, and even the conductor, were fast asleep as well.

 _What the heck was going on?!_ He lowered the flute, trying not to start crying. Everyone… everyone in the entire auditorium, including his parents, was unconscious. Was… was he…

_Was he really that boring to listen to?_

Ten-year-old Hartley sat down on the stage and started sobbing into his hands. All of that work, weeks of effort that he had poured into composing and polishing that flute solo… And it literally was so boring that even his own  _parents_  couldn't sit through it?

But eventually, everyone came to, and the orchestra continued playing the piece. Sadly, Hartley finished his solo and sat down, sure that he would quit the orchestra and put away the flute for good after that disaster of a night. However, to his surprise, the conductor took him by the hand once the concert was over and presented him to the crowd, telling him to "Take a bow!"

And when Hartley did so, he received a standing ovation! On the ride home, while his parents were bragging about him over the phone to the other parents from the recital, Hartley stewed over this new development. People fell asleep when he played his song, yet… they still loved it. Was this... some kind of  _superpower_  or something? Like the Flash's speed or the Elongated Man's stretchiness?

It was definitely something to think about.

Hartley kept experimenting with his flute and his music, testing out different sequences on his classmates to see what sort of melodies would put them to sleep, what would put them in a trance, and he even figured out how to make people forget he was there. It was like he could turn invisible.

Even though Hartley had fun secretly pulling pranks on his classmates using his newfound ability all through middle school, it wasn't until the summer before his freshman year in high school that opportunity came knocking. He was walking to the music store one lazy afternoon to pick up some new sheet music, but when it came time to pay for his items, Hartley realized with disappointment that he had left his credit card at home. And the books with the new music were already at his fingertips, and he had his flute with him at all times anyways...

In the end, it was a simple matter of hiding in the corner, playing a tune that put the cashier and all the other customers into a catnap, stuffing the sheet music in his backpack, and getting the heck out of Dodge. Hartley ran home with his stolen merchandise and locked himself in his room at once.

Sitting on his bed, flipping through the pages of notes and rests, already memorizing the music in his mind for later, Hartley tried to feel some guilt for the crime he just committed, yet he couldn't muster up even a hint of regret. After all…

… There were far bigger issues to feel guilty about than shoplifting.

Putting thoughts of Her out of his mind, Hartley stored the music away and weighed his flute in his hand. In all other parts of life, he was a nobody, a loner, just a simple face in the crowd with little to no expectations or potential, as far as his peers and teachers were concerned. But with this instrument, he was capable of so much, held so much power…

 _Maybe this could become a regular thing_ , he decided. Maybe… it would be the ticket he needed.

A means to an end.

For the rest of the summer, the young teen started taking increasingly bigger jobs, and he made a name for himself in the underworld as a stealth artist, a specialist. He started making decent cash, money that didn't come from his parents' wallets, for a change. (But money wasn't really what he was after.) That August, when Hartley met the Rogues and gave them some information to help with a job, they began to tease him good-naturedly for his outfit, a basic ski cap and functional black clothes, explaining that if he really wanted his criminal career to take off, he needed a calling card, some catch phrase or something.

Hartley had scoffed. In his line of work, he wasn't one for idle chatter or gimmicks in the middle of a theft or a break-in; that kind of defeated the purpose of "stealth", after all. And he had a good track record of never getting caught, unlike these guys. But Mirror Master insisted that he at least come up with some name to go by other than "the flute guy". Something that fit his skill set, something that had a hint of intrigue, and above all, something catchy and memorable.

After a moment of thought, Hartley had to laugh. Fate had struck again.

The book he had been reading when he first received his hearing in that hospital room years ago.

A certain story in the book of Grimm's fairy tales.

A man who got revenge on a town by charming the town's children away into a cave, never to be seen again.

A man with a magic pipe, dressed in green like a hunter, who could control people with his music.

_The Pied Piper of Hamelin._

And thus, a new villain had been born.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 13:24 CST**

"So, what'd you guys think of the movie?"

"Lame."

" _Terrible_  fight sequences."

"Agreed."

Wally, Dick and Roy walked out of the local theater after seeing the latest Marvel superhero team-up movie, which was, of course,  _completely_  unrealistic to what real hero life was like. But… it was good for laughs; one of the main characters was a master of deadpan humor. And he had an awesome-looking goatee and beard.

It was a cool November afternoon, not freezing, but not exactly warm either. An overnight freeze had left traces of white frost on the sides of buildings, but the real cold front wouldn't be coming for another week. For that, Wally was grateful. He didn't feel like getting another concussion for a few days or so.

As they claimed a booth in a nearby restaurant and ordered coffees, Wally asked, "So, do you guys have any plans for this evening? I wish we could hang out and get back to Modern Warfare, but I've got training out in Colorado with Uncle Barry tonight. Practicing running at high altitudes in cold temperatures and all that."

Dick took a sip of his cup before answering, "Have some gala I have to go to here in Central City. Blech. Bruce is meeting me there."

Roy's eyes lit up. "Is it the one at that Strauss Ballroom place on 9th Avenue? If so, I have to be there too. Ollie's off-world on League business, so he's making me go in his place, as if I have nothing better to do with my Saturday night." He rolled his eyes. "Was expecting a major snore-fest, but if you're there, Dick, maybe it won't suck so much."

Wally snickered, "Yeah, I'm glad I never have to go to these things. I'd have to dress in some super-constricting suit and gel my hair back. And you just can't tame this bright-red beauty!" He ran a hand through his extra-spiky hair with a smirk.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Kid Doofus," Dick snorted, flicking a sugar packet at Wally's face with deadly accuracy.

"Dude! Anyways," Wally finished off his coffee – decaf, for Dick and Roy's sakes – and started nibbling on his fifteenth donut, "if you guys are going to a Central City rich-people party, you'll probably see my friend Hartley there. You can't miss him. He's got red hair in a ponytail and he plays the flute."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "How does that help? Why the heck would he be playing the flute at a gala? They generally have string quartets, not woodwinds."

Wally sighed. "His parents are the wealthiest people in the city. Chances are, they're the ones hosting the gala in the first place, and they make him perform at these things every time. Trust me."

Dick shrugged. "Fine. We'll keep an eye out."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 19:00 CST**

At seven in the evening, the Strauss Ballroom in Central City was bustling with laughter, light liquor, and long dresses. The Central City Autumn's End Gala was one of the biggest social events of the year across America, with invites only distributed to select members from the elite one percent. Every individual in the room was a VIP, successful people of the upper crust.

The room's buzz hit an even higher level when billionaire extraordinaire Bruce Wayne stepped out of his limo, followed by his ward, Richard Grayson. Paparazzi snapped hundreds of photos and shoved microphones in their faces, but the two weren't even fazed, joining the party with more charisma and poise than half of the guests put together. Thirteen-year-old Richard – better known as Dick to his closest friends - had attended parties like this hundreds of times, and by now he was never camera-shy. He knew the drill, how to act in order to avoid ending up front-page on tomorrow's tabloids. And unbeknownst to almost all the other guests, the boy was also a Bat, a crime-fighter highly specialized in the art of vanishing from sight.

Once he entered the ballroom, Richard broke away from Bruce Wayne's side at once to walk towards a tall man with red hair leaning against a wall, with his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. "Harper," he said.

"Grayson," the man nodded slightly. Roy Harper was the foster child of Oliver Queen up until his recent eighteenth birthday, making him a legal adult.

Outside of that gala, the two young men had known each other for many years, yet here, they were careful to only appear as mere acquaintances. Any unnecessary connections with their… extracurricular activities had to be avoided at all costs.

"Well, you certainly seem to be feeling the aster," Richard remarked sarcastically, grabbing an hors d'oeuvre off of a passing platter. "Look, the tiny sandwiches even have a little flower-shaped tomato on top!" he teased, waving the snack in front of Roy's nose.

" _Yippee_. Get that crap out of my face." Roy's scowl deepened, if possible. He grumbled, "I can't stand these parties."

Richard shrugged in agreement, taking a bite of his mini sandwich. "Ditto. Everyone always seems so… seems so…"

"Vapid," they said in unison.

"They're always exactly the same, with the same kinds of people, and the same music," Roy complained as he stepped away from the wall and started to walk along the side of the ballroom, watching the other guests with disgust. "I feel my soul being sucked out of my body as we speak."

 _Can't argue with you there_ , Richard thought, swiping another mini sandwich from another passing platter. No matter how much a waste of time this gala was, the snacks were actually pretty good. "Well, let's try to find that Hartley guy that Wally mentioned. Gives us something to pass the time, anyways."

The two teens began to painstakingly scan the crowd together, trying to pick out Wally's friend from the room full of faces. But so far, it seemed they were the only occupants in the ballroom under the age of twenty. It was parties like this that made Richard feel like a toddler, something cute to be coddled and cooed over by the women and talked down to by the men.

It was… not whelming at all.

"Maybe he didn't come tonight," Roy muttered to Richard. And at this point, he couldn't blame him; he would rather be anywhere than here.

About halfway through the gala, from across the room, a woman with red hair tapped her spoon against her champagne glass for attention. "Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming, and welcome to the Autumn's End Gala!" There was polite applause, and she nodded and smiled before continuing, "I'm Rachel Rathaway, and my husband Osgood and I are simply delighted to have you here tonight! Right now, the members of our illustrious and talented string quartet are going to take a brief break. During this interlude, you will be treated to a wonderful performance from our son, Hartley. Please, enjoy!"

Hartley…  _Rathaway_? Richard and Roy exchanged a glance. Was  _this_  the guy they were looking for? The son of the Rathaways, the Central City equivalents of Bruce Wayne or Oliver Queen?

Out of the crowd materialized a teenager, around sixteen years old, carrying a flute case with, sure enough, a ponytail of red hair. The guy gave a quick glare at his mother and father as he passed them on his way to the stage, cluing Richard to the subtle hostility between parents and son.

On stage though, Hartley's frown disappeared once his unpacked his flute from his case. Richard could feel the atmosphere of the room start to still the second Hartley's fingers touched the silver instrument. After giving the customary bow to the crowd, the musician began his interlude, hoisting the flute up to his mouth and starting to blow.

From the very first note, the audience was  _captivated_.

The high, trilling, airy music radiating from the stage seemed to wash over everyone in the ballroom. It… Richard couldn't explain it. It was… remarkable. Moving. As sappy as it was, he could feel the music resonate with his soul. For that much strength to come from a single woodwind instrument in a large ballroom…

This guy had turbing amounts of talent.

A few minutes later, the song drew to a close, and Hartley lowered the flute one more, the audience exploding into applause as he took a final bow. Richard watched him as he walked off the stage and rejoined the crowd, shrinking away from claps on the shoulder and outstretched hands to shake.  _You're not getting away that easy_.

Roy and Richard followed the redhead as he weaved his way through clusters of dignitaries and corporate tycoons, finally cornering him at the back of the room. Seeing how the other guy seemed pretty uncomfortable in crowds, Richard decided to start things off right. "Hi," he greeted, sticking out his hand. "I'm Richard Grayson. This is Roy Harper."

Hartley blinked, shaking both of their hands with hesitation. "Hartley Rathaway. Aren't you two a little… far from home? Most of the guests here are locals."

_Well, one can't exactly start name-dropping Zeta-tubes, can he?_

Roy shrugged. "Benefits of private jets, I guess," he said. "But we were in the area anyway for… other business."

"Oh." Hartley shifted under their gaze, looking away. "It's just not every day that other kids come to these functions."

Richard sighed. "I know, right? I feel like the only reason I have to come to these things is so Bruce can parade me around like his prize show dog or something."

"Exactly!" Hartley seemed to lighten up. Apparently, he could relate to struggling beneath overbearing socialite parents. Maybe he could put the guy at ease.

With a laugh, Richard continued, "It's a little different for you, though. Your parents are married. Bruce on the other hand? He uses me as his chick magnet, basically. Thinks it shows the ladies that he's already a great father, good with kids, yada yada. It's sickening. I mean,  _look_  at him!"

Across the room, Bruce Wayne was surrounded by four women at once, putting on his brightest, most charming smile while gesturing animatedly towards Richard every five seconds. The women were falling for him hook, line and sinker.

"Wow. That's kind of a jerk move," Hartley commented with a chuckle, grinning from ear to ear. With a smile that big, it was no wonder he and Wally were friends.

"Oh yeah," Richard nodded emphatically. "Bruce Wayne is a purebred, genuine d—" He cut off when Roy elbowed him hard in the ribs. "… but he has his moments," he finished, watching Bruce out of the corner of his eye with a smile.

As far as Richard was concerned, getting to kick villain butt with Batman almost made up for having an obscene playboy as a father-figure.

 _Almost_.

"Anyway," Roy changed the subject with all of his usual tact, "we wanted to compliment your performance just now."

"Yeah, that was really something!"

"Thanks." Hartley smiled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"No, seriously," Richard continued. "It was moving. It was… it was almost  _hypnotic_ , the way you had the audience drawn in."

But now, Hartley was turning red, and not in a good way. His eyes widened, his breath hitched, his smile disappeared instantly, and he mumbled another quick "thank you" before walking away immediately. In seconds, he had melted into the crowd once more.

_Gone without a trace._

Richard whistled. "Well. That was…"

"Freakishly weird," Roy finished. "Guy must not be used to compliments or something, I guess."

As Richard followed his taller friend away to go find the little chocolate pastries that were circulating on carts around the ballroom, he couldn't help but wonder about Hartley's strange behavior.

_Was it something I said?_

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 20, 22:49 CST**

_Smooth. Real smooth, Hartley. Way to play it cool._

After kicking the last dregs of snow off his shoes and handing his coat and gloves to one of the servants, Hartley left the front foyer of the house and turned down a side hallway. He made a beeline for the spiral staircase that led up to the family's bedrooms on the second floor.

It was his first time meeting other kids his age at a party, and  _Richard Grayson and Roy Harper_  at that, and what did he do? He stuttered awkwardly and literally ran away.

Like a freakin'  _toddler_.

Hartley grimaced and slammed the wall of the corridor with his fist.  _This is why you have no friends_ , a tiny sardonic voice inside him jabbed with glee.  _It takes a miracle for people to tolerate you long enough to get that far. And once you have a friend? You betray them!_

"Shut up," Hartley said out loud wearily. But he couldn't exactly deny the little inner bully. He had exactly  _one_  true friend on this planet –  _Wally_  – and now? Even that was in jeopardy, because of his own choices. The dilemma was eating him alive.

"Master Hartley," asked a servant from behind him. "Is there something wrong?"

 _Chill out, man. You're scaring people._  "Oh, uh, no. No, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"Alright," she said before turning away down a separate hallway.

After taking a few seconds to calm down and reorder his thoughts, Hartley decided to pay Her a visit. Ascending the staircase with purpose, he checked to make sure no one else was on the floor within view before turning the handle to Her bedroom and slipping inside. It was nearly midnight; it would surprise him if She was sound asleep.

He tiptoed to the side of Her bed, pausing to reach into his inner suit coat pocket and pulling out his contraband from the gala. Cookies and pastries, wrapped in a few napkins. He set the treats on Her nightstand, then turned to look at Her, tucked beneath the comforter and thermal sheets. Reaching out a hand to readjust the blankets, Hartley jumped a little when Her eyes suddenly flashed open and stared at him.

Re-gathering himself, he smiled softly and nodded towards the snacks on the nightstand. "Brought you something." Her eyes darted at the bundle of napkins, and though She said nothing, the corner of Her mouth twitched upward into a smile. Hartley winked and placed his hand on Her head, smoothing Her hair for a moment, something inside his core clenching painfully. Silently, She blinked at his movements. And then he turned away and left the room as quietly as he had entered it before.

In the sanctuary of his own room, Hartley shed the fine jacket and trousers of his suit, hanging them up for the servants to take to the dry-cleaners the next day. Sitting on his bed, he turned on the television and tuned in to the late-night news to see what he missed during that major time-suck of a gala.

" _This is Cat Grant, reporting to you live from Arkham Asylum in Gotham City. According to the police and the officials at this maximum-security prison designated for supervillains, a scheduled train transporting four of the 'Rogues' from Central City arrived at the nearby station on time early this morning."_

On screen, the mugshots of Captain Boomerang, Mirror Master, Captain Cold, and Trickster flashed in succession.  _"However, all four of the criminals were not found on-board. It is assumed that they made their escape en route without the transit's knowledge, and authorities say that they had enough lead-time to make their way anywhere in the country. The City Councils of Gotham City and Central City are both issuing a national watch for these four missing prisoners, and any information available should be reported to authorities immediately in order to secure the recapture of the escaped convicts. Back to you, Brian."_

" _Thank you, Cat. And now—"_

Hartley switched off the TV, inhaling deeply and placing the remote on the bedspread next to him.  _They did it…_

The four Rogues had been arrested Wednesday night, and Trickster had sent word for him to check in with them soon after they were behind bars, and then again on Thursday. The trial passed, and then the four villains were carted away from the city.

But Hartley had to applaud their ingenuity. By escaping from Arkham's transit – which was shabby at best – the Rogues had guaranteed themselves a decent head-start, and it would be hard to track them down. Assuming they could remain inconspicuous. As it was, they were on the lam, they had already made the nightly news, and they had a nationwide headhunt out to get them.

Meanwhile, Hartley was staying in Central City to handle affairs here. All he had to do was wait for them to contact him with his instructions for the next stage and—

As if on cue, his cell phone began to ring from its position on his dresser. Vaulting off the bed, he grabbed the phone and stared at the caller ID.

_It was an unknown number._

On the third ring, Hartley answered and raised it up to his ear. Remembering to drop his voice to the lower, rougher tone of the Pied Piper, he began with a simple, "Hello?"

"Hello. Is this the… Pied Piper?" The voice was strange, unfamiliar. Male, but with an unusual accent.  _Definitely_  not one of the four Rogue fugitives.

"Depends who's asking."

The voice paused, seeming to talk to someone in the background. "I was told to call this number. Evidently, someone we both know thinks we should become… acquainted."

Hartley's heart stopped.  _This was it. After all these years…_  "You know Cold?"

The voice on the other end of the line hummed in affirmation. "Ah, the Captain Cold… Yes, he was the one who left me these instructions. I am supposed to deliver this message for you with… with your orders, I suppose. You may want to write this down."

After a beat, Hartley lunged towards his desk and rummaged through his drawers for a pen and a sticky note. "Ready," he breathed.

"Okay. The note says, and I quote… 'Merry Christmas.' That's it."

 _Merry… Christmas? Are you punking me, Cold?_  "That's all?"

"That is the entirety of the note. Ah, I do not know if it is some code that you must understand, or—"

"No. No, that's alright. I understand perfectly."

"Ah. That is good, good for you. Now, ah… I have been told one more thing. You must take note of the number from which I am calling. It is a closed, one-way phone line, so you will not be able to call it. But this way, when I call  _you_  to set… ah… future arrangements, you will recognize the number immediately."

"Got it." Hartley barely managed to keep his voice under control, his hand shaking wildly as he jotted down the number on the sticky note.

The voice cleared his throat. "It is, ah… a pleasure doing business with you."

"Looking forward to working with you in the future," he practically whispered, ending the call and sinking into his desk chair, stunned.

After all these years. All of the sacrifices, the jobs, the work to build his reputation…  _Everything_  had been for this call.

Hartley couldn't help the enormous grin that started to spread across his face. No matter what happened, he was  _going_  to complete this final job, qualms and dilemmas aside. 'Merry Christmas?' It hadn't taken him long to pick apart what a holiday greeting meant in terms of a job. Christmas was on December 25th. That was the week when the plan's final stage would begin.

In a month and a half, once he did his part, he would receive the reward – the "present" – that he had worked so hard to earn. That was endgame. It would finally be over. A 'merry Christmas' for sure.

Looking down at the sticky note stuck to the surface of his desk, Hartley felt his heart pounding with adrenaline already. The phone number, and underneath that, the two words he had circled. The two words that were proof of the caller's identity as the person Hartley had  _needed_  to meet. Words that meant very different things to very different people, but to him, simply meant… hope.

_Belle Reve._


	12. Amplify, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondays bear mixed feelings for everyone. They're both a beginning, a stepping stone for the opportunity of a new week, and an ending to the events of a weekend. In a sense, a Monday holds the greatest potential as the bridge between a fresh start and past misfortune.
> 
> And for that reason, especially with regard to Wally West, this particular Monday set several balls in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:
> 
> This chapter is the first one where this story starts to join up again with episodes from the actual Young Justice TV show. I've been following the timeline as I planned the chapters, which now puts us at EPISODE 21: IMAGE, if you'd like to rewatch that to refresh your memory before this. Or not, it's not mandatory or anything. But some of you may want the extra context if it's been a long time you've watched the episode.
> 
> Just sayin. ;)

**12**

**AMPLIFY, PART ONE**

**GOTHAM CITY  
November 22, 5:25 EST**

As far as chores went, Dick didn't think cleaning the Batcave was that bad.

Sure, washing and waxing the Batmobile was exhausting – not to mention pointless, especially since Batman went up against Poison Ivy and her mud-throwing plants practically every other day. And tidying up the feces from the bats that lived in the Batcave was, well… flat-out disgusting.

Seriously, they needed a giant kitty litter or something so the bats would stop leaving their droppings all over the floor. Sheesh.

At the same time, cleaning something as huge and awesome as the Batcave definitely had its advantages. He had prime access to forgotten gadgets, for one, since Bruce tended to throw his gear haphazardly around the room whenever he returned from patrol in the wee hours of the morning. Dick found most of his spare grappling hooks and smoke bombs when he picked up Batman's mess, especially scattered behind the stalagmites sprouting from the ground throughout the Batcave. Once he even found a small shard of Kryptonite that just so happened to fall out of the lair's vault. After checking to make sure he was in the security cameras' blind spot, he quietly tucked it away in his own utility belt.

Never know when it might come in handy.

And then on days when the Dark Knight's lair wasn't too trashed and Dick didn't have anything better to do, there was nothing like having a deserted empty space the size of a freaking stadium all to himself. He was free to swing his way through the natural obstacle course of stalactites on the ceiling, vault over crevasses in the ground, and just pace in a giant loop for as long as he liked.

Best of all, cleaning the Batcave meant he had private access to Batman's monster of a computer network, including cameras covering almost every square inch of Gotham, and then some. Not to mention, the Batcomputer also had incredible movie streaming capabilities, top-notch hacking powers that once got him through every security level of the Pentagon, and above all, Internet search drones that crawled through the infinite web of news updates to pick out new targets for missions.

Sometimes, like the Monday morning after the Central City gala, Dick just liked to perch himself in the chair before the wall of monitors and lazily glance over the news alerts the search drones would keep serving up. Even now, at the cold crack of dawn, results poured in from all over - FBI, CIA, NSA, MI6, the works. String of missing pets throughout the UK… Mysterious disappearances of waste from city landfills in northern Maine… Vandalism of the United States Embassy in Vlatava… Ooh, all ice cream half-off at Ben & Jerry's for one day only!

But it was a small, nondescript pop-up from Interpol that morning that caught Dick's attention. He leaped off the chair and leaned against the desk to get a closer look at the message silently blinking on the screen, heart already sinking with dread.

A series of European thefts with possible ties to a certain performance group… A group that Dick knew all too well.

_Haley's Circus._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 22, 7:52 CST**

 _Mondays suck big-time_ , Wally grumbled to himself, irritated and unwillingly getting ready for school. Mondays were the rude awakening to the reality of daily life after the glorious two days of a blissful weekend. They were the pain in the neck that continued to ache all day long. They were unwanted everywhere, yet they insisted on returning every seven days without fail.

_Why? Whose stupid idea was it to invent the Monday anyway?_

Wally frowned at himself in the mirror.  _Good morning, Wall-man. You're making even less sense than usual._ With a groan, he darted downstairs to breakfast, pulled on his boots and winter coat, said goodbye to his parents and began the slow walk to school.

At least today wasn't going to be a full day in class. Since Thanksgiving was coming up in a few days, all the local schools were about to have a week-long vacation - which was awesome, Wally had to admit. No school meant more time to kick butt and take names without the ongoing threat of homework assignments or tests hanging over his head. He was itching to hang out with the Team and take on a mission or two.

Still, the break wouldn't start until after this dumb school-wide assembly. Yeah, Wally had no clue why the school administration decided to drag every student up to campus for only thirty minutes on an early Monday morning -  _right before vacation_. It made about as much sense as forcing someone to hike up Mount Everest, just to yodel obnoxiously for a minute before turning around and hiking back down the mountain. The sooner he could get out of here and get to the Cave, the better.

Avoiding the piercing stares of the faculty he passed, Wally searched for an open seat. He spotted one, and… hey! It was right next to Hartley! Perfect. "Hey, dude," Wally greeted his fellow ginger friend as he slid into the chair next to him. "How's it going?"

"… Pretty good," Hartley finally replied after a pause. "Uh, you have a good weekend?"

"Yeah, it was pretty great…" Wally trailed off, watching Hartley out of the corner of his eye with confusion. Hartley was always really chill and lighthearted, and rarely did he ever show a negative emotion other than boredom or mild frustration. So why did the guy seem so pale and nervous? And his voice sounded… on edge. "Hey, man. You feeling alright?"

Hartley slowly turned his head and stared at Wally wordlessly, his blue eyes wide and unblinking. Wally couldn't even read the expression on his friend's face. It was like the other guy was seeing a nightmare play out in real life. "H-Hartley, you're kinda creeping me out, dude. Cut it out."

Startled from his trance, Hartley jumped and shook his head, smiling apologetically, the odd look in his eyes vanishing without a trace. "Sorry. Sorry, I'm just really out of it," he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. "Had a long weekend. Just ready for this thing to be over."

 _Okay, so he's tired. Fair enough._  Wally nudged him in the shoulder with a laugh. "At least it's a short assembly then. We'll be out of here in no time." They both glanced at the large clock on the wall and sighed.

Wally shifted uncomfortably as he felt the continued stare of dozens of faculty directed his way. A part of him had been freaking out all weekend at the thought of _countless_  teachers and staff with  _his_  secret on their minds and a  _bunch_  of free time on their hands. If any of them were going to spill the beans, they probably would have done so during the past two days. And with a huge holiday right around the corner, who knows how tempted they would be to share their knowledge with family and close friends around a roasted turkey?

Speaking of which… "Hey, got plans for Thanksgiving?" Wally asked with a smile. "Dinner with the family?"

Hartley rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "As if. Thanksgiving is when my parents take the first flight out of Central City and head to some ski resort in Colorado or something. Social gatherings with friends out west and whatnot. The house is gonna be pretty empty all week."

"Well, that's depressing." Wally looked down at his shoes. He knew he was lucky to have family and friends who all enjoyed being together, especially on holidays. But it was easy to forget that as cool and laid-back as Hartley was, his friend's home life wasn't very… homey.

True to form, Wally instinctively felt the urge to invite his friend over for Thanksgiving dinner at his place. With the stomachs of three speedsters and at least one Green Lantern present, there would definitely be plenty of food prepared for everyone, and there was always room for one more. But he stopped himself just in time. What was he  _thinking_? Hartley couldn't come to a superhero gathering. No civilians allowed. For _beyond_  obvious reasons.

Bad enough his teachers knew who he was. If word got out to the  _student body_? Ha. Wally was toast.

And then he had a thought. "Well, hold on. You won't be completely alone. What about your—"

"I'd rather not talk about it, Wally," Hartley said abruptly, his eyes narrowing and his voice lowering, almost sounding like a growl.

 _Oh yeah. Hartley didn't like talking about Her. Sore subject._  "Alright, no problem." Seeing Principal Donner off to the side of the stage talking with one of the assistant principals, Wally changed the subject. "Any idea what they want to tell us? Must be pretty important for them to haul us up here."

Even though he still looked a little sullen, Hartley smirked and shook his head. "Doubt it. It's probably something motivational." His voice dropped into an imitation of the optimistic, deep but friendly tone of Principal Donner, "'Students, we at Keystone High are  _proud_  to be part of a strong, close-knit,  _responsible_  community. Central City is world-renowned for our  _safe_  streets,  _clean_  atmosphere, and  _fair_  ideals. Now as you step out and enjoy your break this week,  _please_  remember to continue to uphold this city's values and represent our school well.  _Don't_  be careless,  _don't_  do drugs, make  _good_  decisions every day, blah blah blah, peace out, suckers.'"

Wally chuckled. "I just hope he'll keep it short, instead of rambling on like at the last pep rally." Principal Donner's speech about school pride and traditions, as well-intentioned as it was, lasted a whopping  _fifty-three minutes_. Eight students had to go the guidance counselor for therapy afterwards.

Finally, the bell rang at 8:00 am, and the principal with his bright white smile, impeccable tie (in official school colors, of course), wire-rimmed glasses and distinguished salt-and-pepper hair stepped to the front podium on stage. "Good morning, everyone," he greeted the crowd of students, each squirming in their seats and anxious to get out of the auditorium and enjoy their vacation. "I'm sure you're all ready to go, so I'll be brief." A cheer rose up from the audience, and Principal Donner laughed good-naturedly.

And then, he began. "Students, we at Keystone High are proud to be part of a strong, close-knit, responsible community…"

 _No way. No freakin' way._  Wally and Hartley exchanged a glance, and burst out in silent laughter. "Nailed it," Hartley wheezed, grinning and looking more like his usual self.

Principal Donner was still going. "… this week, please remember to continue to uphold this city's values and—Mr. Rathaway and Mr. West. Is there something amusing?"

 _Whoops. Called out._  Hartley and Wally straightened up immediately, wiping all signs of hilarity off their faces. "No, sir," Wally answered.

After peering at them over the top of his glasses, his gaze lingering on Wally for an extra, heart-stopping moment, the principal continued. Next to him, Hartley shivered. "Man, as cool as he is," he mumbled, "Donner can be seriously terrifying."

"No kidding," Wally uttered. One had to remember, the principal had been watching him closely for a while now, from the investigation of his parents last year all the way through the exposure this past Friday.

Principal Donner, the most powerful person in Keystone High,  _knew_  things about Wally. Certain things that had the power to destroy him.

… And that was  _truly_  terrifying.

Wally checked his watch, then sat back and waited for the assembly to end. Then he brofisted Hartley, slung his backpack over his shoulders, and made a beeline out of the school towards the Zeta tubes. Dick had texted him that the Team was getting an overseas mission today, something to do with the Middle East, somewhere in the region surrounding the Persian Gulf.

 _Of course_  Wally was excited. Maybe Mondays didn't suck  _so_  bad.

* * *

 **GOTHAM CITY  
** **November 22, 6:01 EST**

Bruce Wayne especially hated Mondays. While it may seem that nothing can faze "the Batman", Bruce was really just like any other ordinary guy. He ate, he slept, and on this particular morning, he woke up in bed already in a bad mood.

After all, bats are  _nocturnal_. He worked his best at late hours; ergo, he was not a morning person.

But it couldn't be helped. Bruce could inwardly complain all he wanted, it wasn't going to get anything done. He had duties to complete. Places to go. People to save. Everyone else's problems to solve. So…

_Up and at 'em, Bruce._

Yet before he could even kick away the sheets, his Batphone buzzed on his nightstand. Sluggishly, he reached over and snatched up the annoying, vibrating phone and answered it. "Hello?" he asked, voice automatically slipping into Batman's gruff, emotionless monotone.

A familiar, energetic, high-strung male voice responded immediately. "Bruce? 'SBarry."

"Barry?" Bruce paused to yawn, sitting up and walking around his room, trying to get some feeling back to his right foot, which fell asleep during the night. "What's wrong?"

"Yabusy?" Barry's voice came out blurred together and nearly unintelligible over the line, proof that the blonde man was probably moving at high speeds on patrol of his city while he talked.

"Busy?" Bruce glanced at the alarm clock. "It's six in the morning on a Monday, an hour earlier your time. How busy do you think I am?"

"Uh…Whadyamean? 'Sthatatrickquestionorsomething? 'CauseIjust –  _humph_  –Ijuststopped _three_ carrobberiesand _four_ muggingsandIhaven'tevenmadeitdowntownyet. Prettybusy. FaceitBruce:you'reslacking."

Bruce growled. "First off, slow down, you're giving me a headache. Second, I just woke up, Barry. This had better be urgent."

There was a pause as Barry was probably readjusting his speech patterns to match that of a sane human being. "Oh… Not  _extremely_  urgent, per se. Just wondering, you know…  _Have you found my villains yet?!_ " he shouted, nearly giving Bruce a heart attack and making him drop the pair of socks he was trying to put on his feet.

Doing his best not to curse too loudly (Alfred tended to worry when he did), Bruce counted to five before replying, "I assume you're talking about the Rogues?"

"Psh.  _Please._  What gave you that idea? –  _Hey, you! Drop that woman's purse!_ \- Nah, I'm talking about my  _other_  four missing enemies that've been running around wreaking havoc who knows where for the past three days.  _Of course_  I'm talking about the Rogues! So? Have you found them yet?"

Bruce replied simply, "No."

Barry was nearly hysterical. " _No?!_  Why the heck not? You've got to be joking!"

Again, "No."

"Are you freaking kidding me? You,  _Bruce Wayne_ , can't find four fugitives with all of your cameras and monitors and high-tech gadgets? –  _Better lower that gun, buddy. I mean it._  - You can't miss them, Bats! Heck, one of them is dressed like a  _clown_! I thought you liked clowns, Mr. Arch-Nemesis-of-the-Joker."

Pulling on the first leg of his pants with the phone pressed against his ear, Bruce explained with exasperation, "Barry, contrary to popular belief, no, I don't have eyes _everywhere_. My cameras have unmatched scope and resolution, yes. But it is humanly impossible to see every corner of the world at once. I'm not  _God_ , you know."

"Really? Coulda fooled me. You're Batman," Barry teased, but Bruce could hear the man's anxiety in his voice.

He continued to reason with him, patience worn too thin too soon. "Besides, have you ever considered the fact that maybe, just  _maybe_ , your villains already changed out of their outlandish costumes to stay under the radar? In normal clothing?" Barry said nothing, which was a miracle in itself. "That said, it's going to be harder than you think to track them down. They could be in any city, in any crowd, appearing to be any ordinary citizen. I'm still going to keep searching, and my software is running facial recognition, but odds are good that if they're as clever as we think they are, they're not going to be easy to pinpoint. Understand?"

"… Yeah. I understand. Got it…  _Man_ , this sucks. Thanks anyways, Bruce."

Seeing that the conversation was winding down to a close, Bruce gave a little suggestion to his colleague who was prone to stressing himself out frequently. "Barry? Try not to be a nervous wreck about this. I know you're concerned, especially since they might be planning something you don't know about yet. Just keep it in perspective, and stay alert. Things will turn out fine."

"Right. I'll do my best… Oh, and side note? I never knew. You  _sleep_? How lame, Bruce. How very, very lame. The great and powerful Batman needs to sleep. My respect for you just took a  _major_  hit in the—"

"Goodbye, Barry." He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket before heading downstairs for breakfast with Dick and Alfred.

Speedsters. Sure, it's impossible to hate them, and they're always loyal to a fault. But when they're enthusiastic or hyper?

_Yeesh._

Alfred's blueberry pancakes were spectacular, as always, and Bruce calmly sipped his coffee – Columbian roast, his favorite – while watching Dick pick at his food. Something seemed to be troubling him. "Is everything okay, Dick?"

His ward glanced up from his plate, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, everything's fine. I'm just thinking about something."

' _Just thinking?'_ His ward was clearly brooding. And brooding over something unsettling, it seemed. A small part of Bruce wondered if he should push Dick to share his concerns. According to several parenting sites he browsed in his spare time, it wasn't healthy for teens to always hide away their worries. Apparently, they should share their thoughts with a responsible adult.

…  _Ha_.

Who was he kidding? It's just brooding. Bruce did it all the time. It would be hypocritical for him to fault Dick for something as natural as brooding. Brooding was good,  _healthy_  even.

And so Bruce let it go.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred spoke up as he cleared away the plates. "Might I suggest that you do your best to take it easy today?"

Bruce looked up at the older man. "Hmm?"

"Sir, you have already sighed nine times ever since you came downstairs. I understand you have many issues to attend to, but do try not to sigh more than one hundred times today."

With a quiet laugh, Bruce consented. "Okay, Alfred. I'll try."

_No promises, though._

Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. One of the news drones picked up trouble in Qurac and Bialya, a red-flag issue that needed to be resolved quickly. Might make a good mission for the Team, give them a chance to grow when faced with something as fragile as international politics. Bruce kept it in mind as he made his way down to the Batcave, donned his uniform, and traveled through the Zeta tube to Mount Justice.

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
November 22, 8:48 EST**

First thing in the Dark Knight's routine was to briefly scan through the previous night's security video from the Cave's cameras. Nothing, nothing, nothing, noth— Stop.

Hold on a minute. He hit rewind and zoomed in on footage of Black Canary and Superboy sparring. Normal enough. But then… Why on earth were they…

_Making out?_

Though he was careful not to let his expression betray him, Bruce's mind short-circuited.  _Dinah_ , why would you do that to Oliver? … And with a teenage boy at that?

Scandalous.

Thankfully, M'gann's trick was revealed a couple seconds later, but Bruce still made a point to call in Oliver and Dinah to discuss the matter.

As soon as Black Canary and Green Arrow responded that they were on their way over, Aquaman came in over the comms. Since Aqualad was helping him out with an invasion of hostile sea monsters down in Atlantis, he wouldn't be available for any Team missions for a few days. Well, it looks like Dick would have his first shot at leading the group now.

Bruce checked his watch.  _It was only nine in the morning and already he wanted to call it quits for the day._

"Kill me now," he sighed (for the umpteenth time that day). Then he started prepping the briefing for the Team's mission.

* * *

 **MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **November 22, 9:56 EST**

Wally burst into the Cave feeling a little more frazzled than normal, zipping down hallways at high speed while the automated female voice of Zeta tube announced his arrival. He darted to his room, one of the spaces in Mount Justice reserved for him where he could stock spare snacks and his backup Kid Flash uniform.

Batman's voice came in over the intercom, calling the Team in for a mission briefing.  _You're running late, Wall-man_ , Wally scolded himself, yanking his boots off and tossing his coat and jacket away. That school assembly took  _way_  too long; he almost didn't make it in time.  _Go, go, go!_ He spun into his uniform and made sure to stuff a few protein bars into the cupboard of his gauntlet.

Then he sped out the door and screeched into the briefing room where the others were gathered, just barely making it there before Batman began speaking. The Dark Knight explained the rising tensions in Qurac and President Harjavti's strange behavior, all thanks to the Supreme Empress of Suck, Queen Bee. The Team's job was to head over there and find out what was going on.

"Robin," Batman announced, "you're team leader."

 _Wait, what?_  Wally grinned. "Promotion! Sweet!" He held up his hand for a congratulatory high-five.

But Robin…  _ignored him_. Wally felt wounded.

"Me? W-what about Aqualad?" Robin objected abruptly, stepping forward.

"Busy helping Aquaman. You're the next logical choice."

Robin hung his head. "Great," he confirmed, yet sounding anything but pleased.

"Dude," Wally huffed, "you totally left me hanging." What was going on? This was what Robin had been working so hard for, what he'd been watching Kaldur and aiming to accomplish since the Team's day one.

_So… why wasn't he pumped?_

But there wasn't any time to delay. Miss Martian flew straight for the hangar to get the Bioship up and running for the long flight over the ocean, while the rest of them ran through their checklists to make sure they were prepped and ready for action the instant they landed.

And as Wally carried a crate of water bottles to shove into the aircraft's cargo hold, he couldn't help but notice Robin staring at him from across the hangar, his expression unreadable.

Watching him.

By ten in the morning, the Bioship was in the air and en route to Qurac. Wally spent the first five minutes of the trip spinning around in his seat, then tapping his fingers on the nearby dashboard to the beat of some song he had stuck in his head, and then playing Tetris and Pac-Man on his gauntlet.

(Yes, he made sure Uncle Barry installed classic arcade games into his Kid Flash suit. Because honestly… why  _not_?)

But there was a reason Wally and long trips didn't go well together. He was already an overactive, antsy, constant ball of nervous energy at any given moment. Stuffing him inside a painfully slow, contained vehicle, whether a school bus, the Bioship, or even Uncle Barry's car was guaranteed to put him on edge.

So what's a speedster to do when doomed to a long flight over the Atlantic?

Well,  _talk_  of course.

He spun around in his chair and looked at his three teammates with a buzz of excitement. "You guys pumped? I mean, this is some pretty big stuff!"

Robin frowned and shrugged, "It's just like any other mission, KF. We get in, we do our job, we hope not to screw up too badly, and we get out. That's it."

Wally shook his head adamantly. "No, but this is different, Rob! How often does Bats purposely trust us with the fate of other countries? Us! I mean, we're just a group of teenagers, broadly speaking, and we're about to take down a  _dictator's regime_  in the next two days! That's not something we do every day, right?"

Superboy shrugged. "I guess."

"It is pretty exciting," Miss Martian agreed with a smile, hands firmly planted on the twin spherical controls of the Bioship. "We'll be facing a tough opponent, though. Queen Bee has a reputation."

"Yeah?" Wally grinned, snapping his fingers with a laugh. "Well, so do we!"

"That's not necessarily a good thing, you know," Robin commented, looking out the window thoughtfully. "The more famous we become, the harder it's going to be to stay covert for the League's purposes. We're not meant to be flashy, big-time heroes. At least, not yet."

Wally stopped his chair-spinning for a second, peering at Robin out of the corner of his eye. What's gotten into  _him_  all of a sudden? Since when did Robin care about making the League happy? Wasn't that why they made this Team in the first place, to show their mentors that they were capable, that they weren't just sidekicks?

No, Rob still had the Team's best interests at heart, Wally knew that. And he knew that Robin didn't mean to sound like a killjoy, and what he was saying made sense, it just… didn't sound like his spirited, trolling best friend he knew and loved.

Come to think of it, Rob had been acting kind of weird ever since Batman gave them the mission briefing. Wally thought back to all of those conversations where Robin was talking about  _Aqualad_ , and how  _Aqualad_ was such a great role model for the rest of them, and how one day he hoped to be as great a leader as  _Aqualad_ , and how when that day came, he'd hope he'd live up to  _Aqualad's_  expectations.

There was some serious hero-worship going on in that dude's head.

Robin desperately wanted to earn leadership of the Team someday if Aqualad ever decided to step down, Wally knew that better than anybody. So now that he actually had the opportunity to lead a mission? It only made sense that his friend wanted it to go off without a hitch. Rob  _wanted_  this, he was  _focused_  on this, and he _would get_  this.

Wally decided he'd do his best to make that happen for his best bro.

Since nobody else seemed particularly talkative, Wally spent the next ten minutes pacing around the Bioship until Miss Martian sternly told him to sit down – apparently the Bioship didn't like the feel of his feet gradually wearing away the floor.

He twiddled his thumbs, played some more Tetris, and then he did some mental math. The distance from Mount Justice to Qurac was roughly 6500 miles, and the Bioship took a steep trajectory in order to ride along the earth's orbit and avoid showing up on various countries' radar… and in the past M'gann had once mentioned the maximum pace the vehicle could maintain for long periods of time… So if they left the Cave at around ten in the morning… then, factoring in the time zone difference and the curvature of the earth… it would be roughly midnight in Qurac's time zone by the time they landed.

Yikes. The massive jet lag alone was going to knock him out later unless he prepared in advance. A seven-hour flight, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing but ocean in all four directions, and limited food on hand… the only thing left for Wally to do was sleep.

And so he napped, and tried not to think too much about tasty Thanksgiving turkeys, mysterious flutists, and vindictive teachers out to get him.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 22, 9:06 CST**

Barry, for one, really enjoyed Monday mornings. He liked how the city seemed to glow a little bit extra with the sunrise, and how even though the back alleys were still up to no good, the main streets were mostly tranquil and empty, save for the dog-walkers and streetside vendors. He liked that feeling of a "clean slate day" to start off the week, and the idea that there was nowhere to go but up.

So when he showed up for work at the forensic labs, Barry sported a big smile on his face. "Good morning, Leah," he greeted the police station's chief medical examiner as soon as he walked in.

"It's far too early for you to be this cheery, Allen," Leah Bowman said with a sigh, not looking away from the specimen she was peering at through a microscope.

"Aww, come on! It's a Monday! Aren't you excited?" he laughed.

Leah groaned and looked up at him with her typical cynical expression on her face. "Allen, I'm a coroner. I do post-mortems for a living. I can't remember the last time I was 'excited' to work with  _dead people_  for fifteen hours straight,  _especially_  on a Monday. I love my work, but I don't love it that much, buddy."

Barry hummed. Made sense. "Whatcha working on?" he asked curiously, looking around her to try to see what was under her slide.

"Checking the porosity on this skull fragment. Middle-aged female, found dead under the Weisman Bridge at one this morning, cause is most likely due to cracked cranium from the fall." Leah's voice was clinical and detached, a coping mindset honed after nearly twenty-five years of experience in the profession. "I'm leaning towards suicide jumper, but we're waiting for the psych evaluation to get back to us by noon. I'm double-checking the evidence in the meanwhile."

Barry involuntarily shivered, then looked thoughtfully at his middle-aged colleague who was bent over her microscope, intent on wrapping up this case and moving on to the next one. There was a reason he didn't do well with his autopsy classes in college when he was getting his degree. That was a specific skill set for an entirely different type of person, a strong, practical, no-nonsense, very focused person. Like Leah. And he respected that. "Alright, I'll leave you to it," he told her, moving on towards his own workstation.

Pulling up the police database on his computer and scanning through the entries, Barry heard the clinking of keys and the swish of a lab coat behind his back. Justin stumbled past him, arms piled high with four boxes of files. "Need a hand?" Barry asked his coworker.

"Sure, if ya don't mind. Takin' these down to storage. Thanks," Justin puffed as Barry took two of the boxes off his hands. They descended down the stairs to the underground storage cellar, setting them down with a thump and labeling them to be sorted. "Oh, by the way," Justin mentioned, readjusting his glasses on his nose. "Kirk over at evidence says he has a delivery for ya. Has to do with lab results on a blade or somethin'."

 _The boomerang. Of course._  Barry had almost forgotten the weapon he'd mailed out to the lab guys over at the county sheriff's office. They had the best equipment for working with unknown materials, and they had a couple of scientists on staff who used to work at S.T.A.R. Labs in the past. Barry figured that if there was anyone in the state who could piece together the boomerang's secrets, it would be them. And sure enough, they had sent back the results he needed five days later, right on schedule.

He nodded. "I'll head over first chance I get. We good here?"

"Yup," Justin grunted, shoving the last crate onto a shelf. "Thanks, man."

Barry shrugged with a smile. "Any time."

Justin was a young guy, only twenty-five, with slightly disheveled, mousy brown hair and a small stature. Yet he'd been on the force for several years after graduating college at the age of sixteen. The guy was brilliant, easily the smartest guy on the payroll, and what he lacked in physical strength he made up for with dependability and trust. Justin and Barry got along just great, which was important.

(Barry needed someone to cover for him whenever he had to miss work for hero duties. It was loyal partners like Justin who kept heroes like Barry from getting the pink slip.)

An hour later, after presenting some evidence at criminal court and then getting yelled at by Dr. Richardson for "not filing his reports correctly" (which Barry doubted was the case), he finally found a spare moment to walk down the hall to the evidence locker. Retrieving the package from the mailbox and signing off on the log, Barry locked himself away in the darkroom again to read over the results in private.

The introduction was nothing extraordinary, just the specs of the blade itself. Standard 440 C steel type, combined with a carbon-chromium-nickel alloy to shape the tips and to achieve a maximum aerodynamic structure. Unlike other weapons Captain Boomerang used in the past, this one had virtually no paint or stains to recolor it, so the unblemished silver sheen was ruled to be a result of entirely pure metals forged together, something extremely difficult to accomplish. The tiny, serrated edges were too fine to be cut by anything other than a diamond edge. Even the thickness itself, a remarkable 2.5 mm, was unique, since throwing such a thin, dangerous blade without a hilt required expert technique.

All in all, the report stated, this weapon was of the absolute highest quality. It was designed to be fast, precise, and razor-sharp when it hit its target. Boomerang didn't mess around, that's for sure.

But Barry still held his breath. This was the basic preliminary evaluation, taking up only the first page of a nine-page lab report. He still had plenty of questions on his mind. What was the stuff coated on the tips of the boomerang? A parasite? A toxin? What effect did it have on ordinary human cells, let alone on the cells of a speedster? Was it contagious? Heck, was it fatal? Where did it come from? How likely was it that the Rogues would use the material again?

What would it do to Wally? No, better question, what had it done to Wally  _already_?

 _Well, Barry, no point beating around the bush. You'd better get started._ Taking a deep breath and making himself comfortable, he turned the page and began to read.

And as he read, he slowly leaned forward.

And as he read, his hand gradually found its way to his hair and started to pull.

And as he read, the color drained from his face.

And as he read, his heart began to pound painfully against his ribcage.

And as he read, two emotions battled within him.

Fear, for one. Yep, he was freakin' terrified. And then… pure, unrestrained  _hatred_.

Now to be clear, Barry wasn't a very resentful person by nature. He rarely held grudges, he didn't spend too much time brooding over his arch-enemies like a certain _Dark Knight_  he knew, and he didn't spend most days hunting for revenge.

That said, this report held all the answers Barry was looking for. There were no longer any mysteries surrounding the boomerang sitting in the bag on the table next to him. After reading the lab findings, Barry knew everything about it… and what the implications were for his nephew.

And now that he had this knowledge?

He wanted Boomerang to drop.  _Dead_.

* * *

 **QURAC  
** **November 22, 23:56 UTC+2**

"Okay, everyone. We're approaching the drop site soon. Rise and shine! That means you, KF."

From the depths of unconsciousness, Wally heard the angelic voice of Miss Martian float into his ears, and he groaned and swatted at it like a fly. "Five more minutes…" he mumbled.

"We're going to  _be there_  in five minutes, dude. Get ready," Robin snapped, not sounding too pleased.

"Be there? Be where?" Wally felt weirdly disoriented after his nap. His hand absentmindedly scratched at his arm, which felt a little bit tingly, but not quite in pain. This seemed to happen every time he woke up from sleep lately – his brain felt very unfocused and groggy, and there was that annoying tweaking feeling just below his shoulder, like someone invisible was pinching him repeatedly. Wally stretched and shook it out, and the feeling faded, so he forgot about it instantly.

Robin rolled his eyes (though you wouldn't be able to tell behind that mask), "Our mission? Qurac and Bialya? Look down below, Kid Oblivious."

"'Look down below, Kid Oblivious'," Wally mocked irritably, leaning over the dashboard to look out the window. Even though it was pretty dark at night, he could still see the fields of grass, the scattered groups of acacia trees, and hey! Some wildebeest! He always wanted to see some up close—

 _No, don't get sidetracked, Wall-man. Focus on the mission, for Robin's sake._ Dragging his attention away from the awesome, striped, horned animals, he observed a wooden fence line. A fence line that seemed innocent enough, not too significant, but-

"We're right above the Quraci-Bialyan border," said Robin, almost like he could read Wally's thoughts.

"A border the Bialyans are in the process of ignoring," Wally commented with a frown, reaching up to pull his goggles down over his eyes. A whole group of tanks plowed right over the fence line, reducing it to a sorry-looking pile of warped wire and wooden beams. In seconds, the tanks had disturbed the grazing herd of wildebeest and sent them running off in a panicked mass.

Wally wasn't a big politics buff, but he had a feeling that plowing over an international border with military vehicles was typically a no-no. So why weren't the Quraci forces defending their turf?

"No opposition," Superboy mused. "Guess Harjavti really is in bed with Bialya."

Robin looked up from his computer on his gauntlet. "Wouldn't expect opposition here. It's an animal sanctuary."

"The  _Logan_  Animal Sanctuary?" Miss Martian gasped in surprised.

"You've heard of it?" Robin asked with confusion, and Wally had to agree. A remote animal reserve in the backlands of a small Middle Eastern country wasn't likely to catch the notice of your average Martian.

But something else had Wally's attention. His night vision tracked the path of the rampaging wildebeest, and, he blinked to focus the magnification of the picture…  _uh oh_. "Guys. Tanks have caused a stampede. With civilians in harm's way!"

Superboy leaned over his dashboard to see where he was pointing. "I see them. Woman and a small boy."

"We have to help them!" Miss Martian declared.

But what did Robin say? "We're way off mission here." There was a pause as Wally, Miss Martian and Superboy all stared at the team leader in disbelief.

_Seriously, dude? I mean, I get that you're entirely mission-oriented and all, but... Isn't this a little much?_

Most of the time, Wally did his best to follow orders. He'd follow other people's lead any time, for any other mission. He trusted his fellow heroes at all times. But the second he saw innocent people in the path of danger, all bets were off. He didn't even wait for Robin's "approval" before readjusting his running boots and reaching to undo the seatbelt across his chest.

That awkward moment of "heartless Robin" thankfully passed, and Robin decided. "Deploy. But stealth mode! If the Bialyans know we hit them, this becomes an international incident."

Robin's reasoning was logical, Wally had to agree. Very logical, as steadfast and purely accurate and  _cold_  as Batman—

But Wally stopped his train of thought. Lately Robin had been doing his best  _not_  to become like Batman completely. It was a long-time issue Wally knew had been plaguing his best friend for a while, especially ever since that mission-simulation-gone-wrong back in October. To bring that up now, how Robin had been about to abandon civilians in favor of focusing on their main goal? That would throw him off his game.

So Wally left it alone for the time being. Besides, he finally had the chance to stretch his legs after the long flight! He tapped the Flash logo on his chest, fascinated as always by the way the black coloring of Stealth Mode seemed to crawl its way all over the body of his suit. (It kinda  _tickled_ , to be honest.)

Using the Bioship's artillery, Miss Martian fired on the tanks, causing them to crash into each other and halting their progress. As expected, the enemy soldiers poured out, and lookee there! They were armed and ready for combat! And as an added bonus, they seemed fearsome, as if they were daring the Team to get down on their level and fight.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Wally never felt happier. He'd been in combat-withdrawal for a few days. He  _needed_  this, especially after all the stress and worrying about the school faculty and his livelihood hanging in the balance.

He crouched down into a running position as the Bioship pulled down towards the ground. And the instant the ship's gate opened, Wally burst into a sprint. From the first steps, adrenaline flooded his veins. He could hear the explosions of Robin's birdarangs to his left, the trademark  _whoosh_  of Miss Martian soaring overhead, and Superboy's shouts of righteous anger to his right as the Boy of Steel faced down a herd of wildebeest. And in front of him was an entire platoon of invading enemy soldiers, who were shooting bullets at them in the dark. Nice, a good setup.

Wally kicked into high gear and starting taking out opponents with every other step, watching the positions of bullets that peppered the air, which at his speed were trackable and fairly avoidable. Keeping in mind that he was fighting normal humans who were more 'fragile' than the average supervillain, Wally did his best not damage them too badly. He just knocked them out as fast as possible and confiscated their weapons. A kick here, a full-body tackle there, a punch to the gut over here, a whack to the back of the knees on this guy, a jump-kick into that guys chest.

_Bada bing, bada boom._

Really, the fight wasn't too challenging, and everything was over in minutes. But that was fine, it was still a good warm-up for what would no doubt be a more difficult battle against Queen Bee's personal forces later on.

Robin finished off his last goon before running over to where Superboy, Miss Martian and the civilians were located off to the side, leaving Wally to do some minor cleanup. He scooped up all the guns and ammo and swept them into a pile, and then double-checked that all the baddies were actually unconscious.

"Are you both alright?" Robin asked, sounding just as wired as Wally felt. It didn't matter who you were, combat made you feel  _alive_.

The kid, who looked like he was maybe eight or nine, stared at Wally and Robin with wide eyes. "Mom. Mom. Mom! We were just saved by Robin. And  _Kid Flash_!"

Wouldn't you know it, this boy living on an animal sanctuary in the outskirts of Qurac actually got his name right! And yet, every single freaking newspaper in Central City, his  _hometown_ , still insisted on calling him 'Flashboy'. Irony aside, he smiled at the kid. This little dude kind of looked like Wally back in his own elementary years. And it felt nice to be a hero to younger kids the way Uncle Barry was to him. He had come full circle.

The kid Garfield, or 'Gar' as he liked to be called, led them back to his house at their clinic for injured animals. The entire way there, he constantly asked them questions about if Robin's utility belt was actually prepared for anything? And was it true that Kid Flash could break the sound barrier on foot? And was Superboy related to the actual Superman at all? (That one struck a nerve, but Superboy took a deep breath and ignored it.) But mostly, Gar just asked about life in America, since he'd only visited a few times when he was a toddler.

Since Robin's thoughts were on the Team's mission and Superboy wasn't a big conversationalist even on a good day, Wally spent the most time talking with Gar. He continually saw parts of himself in the younger boy, in how Gar loved to ask questions, in how he was hyperactive and just a little quirky, and especially in how… lonely he seemed to be. Wally imagined that living on an animal reserve with no one besides your mom within a hundred-mile radius felt pretty isolating to an eight-year-old boy. He wondered how many friends Gar had in these early years. Probably not many.

Wally could relate.

So when Gar begged Kid Flash to carry him on his shoulders and give him a taste of what superspeed was like, Wally was more than happy to oblige (while being careful not to give the younger boy whiplash). They easily beat Robin and Superboy to the Logans' home, so Gar took him on a mini tour of the clinic while they waited for the other two to catch up.

Wally whistled. "I take it you and your mom really like animals, huh?"

"Like 'em?" Gar laughed. "I love 'em! They're all so exotic, and they're never boring, and they make good companions… What's not to like?"

"Well, I mean, they do smell a little funky, right?"

Gar raised his eyebrows. "Really? I never noticed. I must be used to it, since I grew up around them all the time." He spun around, arms outstretched, and sighed in satisfaction. "This is my home. I know all about each and every one of these animals. They're… they're like my family. I'd do anything for them."

Wally looked down at Gar. "Anything?"

"Anything." Gar sighed and put his hands on his hips. "I know they're not human, and not many of them are exactly 'cuddly pets' like dogs or cats. But they're all I've got. There's probably nothing I wouldn't do to protect them, you know?" Gar affectionately rubbed the head of some strange deer-looking creature and shrugged.

Fair enough. Wally figured that was the case for everybody. He sure had important people in his own life. Dick and Roy. His parents, the Garricks, Aunt Iris. And  _definitely_  Uncle Barry. Yeah, he loved them all. But would he do anything for them?  _Anything_? 'Anything' was a pretty strong word, no exceptions allowed… But yeah, he cared about them a  _lot_ … His loved ones were his world. Was there anything he  _wouldn't_  do to protect them?

Wally was glad he didn't have to work that out right this second.

"Gosh, I just can't believe you're actually here!" Gar laughed. "I've only ever seen you online or on TV, and now you're right here in front of me! I'm actually talking to _Kid Flash_! Remind me to ask for your autograph later."

Basking in glory, Wally promised he would. As morning approached, the sun began to rise over the horizon, and the sky grew pink and orange. Gar stared at the sunrise and whispered, "I wish you and the others didn't have to go. Well, I know you have to, you have a job to do. But I… wish you didn't."

Well,  _crap_. This was getting pretty sentimental. Now Wally was feeling an urge to do something completely out of protocol and likely to land him in deeper trouble than he was already in. "Look, uh, Gar. I don't normally do this. I mean, I'm definitely not supposed to. 'Cause you're a civilian and all. But," Wally saw a couple of figures approaching from afar and figured his teammates were almost there, so he had to do this fast. "But I'm gonna give you my cell number. You'll always have service since it's connected to a special network of satellites used by the Justice League. So if you're in any trouble, and, well, you could use some help, then you can give me a call. And, uh, I don't have a Bioship like Miss Martian or any special Batgadgets like Robin. But… But I  _can_  run on water, and I  _do_ have superspeed, so… I can be here. Just keep it under wraps, alright? Just between you and me, and  _just_  for emergencies."

As he scribbled the number down on the back of a receipt for a Chinese restaurant he found in one of his gauntlets, Wally knew he was breaking about six different rules outlined in his hero contracts with Uncle Barry. But he felt like he had to do  _something_  for this kid, and something inside him said that this action was going to be crucial sometime in the future.  _This felt right._  He held out the paper with a smile. "There you go."

Gar's eyes widened enormously, and he took the little slip of paper in his fingers like he'd been handed the meaning of life or something. "Th-thank you," he said breathlessly, clutching the phone number to his chest and staring at Wally in gratitude.

Off to the side, Superboy and Robin arrived at the front gate of the Logans' yard. "Great, you all made it!" Gar exclaimed, stuffing the paper in his pocket, gesturing for them to follow him inside. Wally opened up the cupboard on his gauntlet to grab an energy bar.

Just to have it stolen by some monkey that dropped out of a tree. He tried not to be too irked over losing his snack.

And the look on Superboy's face when the primate chucked the bar at his head?  _Priceless_.

As it turns out, this mission was full of surprises. The possible connection between Miss Martian and Mrs. Logan, and some TV show called "Hello, Megan!" seemed a little fishy. Gar was about to play the pilot episode for them.

Suddenly, Superboy tensed up. "Wait. Aircraft. Headed this way." He ran out of the house, and Robin and Wally followed closely behind. Superboy stood in the yard, and Wally was careful not to make too much noise so the Kryptonian could target which direction the aircraft were approaching from.

Mrs. Logan and Miss Martian had just arrived. "What is it?" Miss Martian asked.

The sound of machine gun fire answered that question. Three military-grade jets speared into the airspace above the Logans' property, blanketing the ground with rapid-fire bullets that nearly got Miss Martian and Mrs. Logan if Superboy hadn't jumped in to shield them.

"Where's my son?!" Mrs. Logan demanded.

Robin called back, "I ordered him to stay inside."

Suddenly, Wally felt a cold chill down his back as Gar's words played back in his mind. ' _They're all I've got. There's probably nothing I wouldn't do to protect them…'_

Oh no…

It seemed that Mrs. Logan came to the same realization Wally did, and her eyes widened. "He's eight! He doesn't  _do_  orders!"

Across the clearing, Gar's voice shouted, "Mom!"

Wally saw him. He  _saw_  him there, in the doorway of the stable. The distance wasn't far, maybe one hundred, one hundred-fifty yards.

"It's okay, I got the animals out!" Gar waved as creatures from all over the animal kingdom sprinted away from the structure.

The jets returned for another fly-by, and a second spray of bullets peppered the ground, this time heading straight for where the boy was standing. The wave of fire approached the propane tank next to the stable.

The others might not have had any time to react.

But. Wally.  _Did_. There was that familiar mental "snap" as his mind sped up along with his reflexes, his perception faster than any ordinary human's. He saw each bullet individually travel through the air and strike the ground with a crack. He saw the impacted friction in the wake of the bullets. Everything was in slow motion to him at the speed his brain was working. He had  _time_  to get to Gar first.

Yet, he realized with a cold, sinking feeling in his gut… something was wrong.

His mind was fast. Check.

His thoughts were fast. Check.

His perception was fast. Check.

His very  _will_  was fast. Check.

_But his body would not move._

He barely had time to take a single step forward before the bullets made contact with the propane tank. It caused the entire stable – with Gar inside – to explode. Snapped planks, brick and mortar, and the boy were all sent flying.

" _Garfield!_ " Mrs. Logan screamed as her son went airborne.

In the time that Wally took a second step forward, Miss Martian had reacted and flown upwards to snatch Gar from the rubble before he plummeted to the ground. And from where he stood on the ground, it didn't look like the limp, battered kid was responding or even conscious. Was he… was he  _alive_?

There was a beat, and then an unbelievably heavy crushing weight of guilt began to set in.

He was Kid Flash, the fastest kid alive and the Team's resident speedster. He easily outran and outdodged bullets twice a week without a problem. He could run up most walls, leave racecars in the dust, and break the sound barrier at will. And just now, he knew he was more than capable of moving Gar out of the line of fire. He protected his own citizens back home all the time from similar situations.

Kid Flash, of all people, was  _not_  afraid of bullets.

So it wasn't a question of whether he  _could've_  saved the eight-year-old, who was now being flown into his house by Miss Martian and straddling the line between life and death.

He  _had_  been able to save him.

Instead, it was a question of  _what went wrong_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a fun time writing Bruce's POV for the first time. And Barry's voice might be my favorite one. I picture his labmates in the forensics department to have a spectacular dynamic, like something out of CSI or NCIS. Maybe someday I'll do a small story based around the unbeatable crime scene investigation unit of Central City.
> 
> And basing chapters around actual episodes from the show is more difficult than I thought it'd be. It's gotten to the point where I have to rewatch scenes four or five times to get the action and dialogue right, blergh. But I've been a fan of Beast Boy since the Teen Titans TV show years ago, and I still love Gar in the YJverse, so I figured now was a good time to start "sowing the seeds" for his spot on the Team in Season 2. :3


	13. Amplify, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results are in and the path has been set - in situations that transcend this mission. It's times like these that call for drastic measures, and everyone involved must deal with both immediate and future consequences.
> 
> Especially Wally West.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *brushes off the cobwebs* Hi everybody! ... I really have nothing much to say at this point. Well, yeah, I'm sorry for my extremely (!) long absence. Basically, life happens, college can be demanding, and writer's block can be a thing. :P
> 
> I am writing without my notes for the minute, so there will inevitably be edits in the future, but thought I'd just take a crack at it so this whole thing can get back in the groove.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who's reviewed, PMed, favorited and/or followed this story! Your words give me encouragement, and your support motivates me to continue. ^^
> 
> Man. It feels good to write again.
> 
> Also, if you're interested, there is a metric-crap-ton of notes on this chapter, this story in general, and my life at the end... if you're interested. I wrote all this stuff primarily for Future Moi to look back on and learn from, but if you are interested, you're more than welcome to give 'em a look!
> 
> *I do want to let you all know that, if you didn't already know, this story was originally published on FanFiction.net, and I will continue to be simultaneously publishing this story on that site under the penname Iron Woobie, just an FYI.* :)

**13**

**AMPLIFY, PART TWO**

**QURAC  
November 23, 10:34 UTC+2**

Oh crap.

Oh crap, crap,  _crap_.

This was bad. Nope, 'bad' didn't even begin to describe this.

What now? What next?

…  _Crap_!

"KF, for the last time, stop pacing!" Robin snapped.

"Urhhh… I can't! I-I can't just sit here when… _crap_." Wally shook his head and paced faster.

Miss Martian was hugging her knees in one of the living room chairs, quietly hunched over. Meanwhile, Superboy was standing near one of the windows with his arms crossed in anger, glaring at the noontime grassland outside. And Robin was leaning against one of the walls, masked eyes narrowed in frustration and focus as he occupied himself with his gauntlet computer.

But Wally? Wally couldn't stand or sit still in the best of times. And this was  _not_  the best of times.

"Please explain to me how wearing holes in their floor is doing Gar any favors?" Robin asked, gritting his teeth in irritation. "This thing you're doing – walking in circles and muttering to yourself – does nothing to resolve the situation."

"A situation that  _we caused_  in the first place!" Wally dragged a hand through his hair and tried to take a deep breath. In the next room over, Mrs. Logan was patching up her son's wounds. It was a good thing they lived in a clinic and had medical supplies on hand – even though the supplies were normally used on zebras and primates, not human beings. As it was, most of the materials needed had been stored in the stables on the property - which had been blown to bits in the air strike.

"Well, I'm going to go in and see if there's any way we can help. Stay here and worry pointlessly; I don't care," Robin sighed, turning away and walking down the hall to Gar's bedroom.

Leaving Wally alone with a nonresponsive Miss Martian, a pissed-off Superboy, and his own haywire thoughts. Right now, his brain was flip-flopping between remorse over Gar's injury, and feeling disturbed about how it happened in the first place.

See, here's thing.

The first priority of any mission or patrol is to protect the civilians, every time. Without question. Taking down enemies, be it supervillain or ordinary criminal, is important and all, but not nearly as important as the lives of innocent people. The absolute worst-case scenario is a casualty, when some poor individual with no connection to a conflict gets caught in the crossfire. And dies.

When that happens, the blame rests not only on the villain responsible, but on the  _hero_  who failed to complete their single most crucial duty… especially when they had the ability and the opportunity to do so.

Right now, Wally certainly felt the weight of that failure, that unshakable blame, settling on his shoulders like a heap of bricks. For whatever reason, through whatever cause, this was undeniably  _his_  fault. As a speedster, he simply had no excuse. He should have been able to-

"If you're so concerned, go check on them," Superboy growled, sounding furious and feral just like he typically did the majority of the time. Wally would have resisted visiting the victims of his screw-up, if it weren't for the clone's tightened fists and the "100%  _done_ " look on his face.

So Wally closed his eyes, exhaled, and tiptoed down the corridor.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._  The steady ticking of a heart monitor. Even though the even pacing meant Gar's heartbeat was fairly stable, Wally shuddered and braced his hands against the doorframe. _Good sign, but bad memories._

Mrs. Logan was speaking to Robin about Gar's condition, her voice strained but controlled. "… He's in shock. He needs a blood transfusion,  _now_. Is either of you O-negative?"

"No," Robin replied in a clipped voice, pulling up his computer on his gauntlet again.

"Sorry," Wally sighed, feeling like that one word would never even begin to cover the damage caused that day.

"Neither am I." Mrs. Logan pursed her lips and looked down at her unconscious son with anxiety. "It's the hardest to match. I kept a supply in the clinic…" But there was no getting it now, they all knew.

 _Come on, Kid Failure, do something!_ Wally pushed himself through the doorframe and stepped forward. "I can run him to the nearest hospital," he offered. While he definitely fell short in protecting Gar from the attack in the first place, maybe his speed would help save the kid's life regardless.

Robin instantly nipped that in the bud. "The nearest hospital with guaranteed blood supply is half an hour away at your top speed. Longer by Bioship."

Aha.

 _There_  it was.

The one factor that once again, was proof that Wally simply could not measure up to the task at hand. The one reality that, no matter how optimistic or idealistic a person you were, you simply could not deny. The truth that continuously set Wally a notch too low on the scale of usefulness.

He was too  _slow_. How ironic.

Ever since the Team first formed over the summer, Wally gathered this to be the case: it was Kid Flash's job on the Team to be the fastest, to use his speed as their advantage, their ace for victory.

Basically, the others each had specific roles. Aqualad as leader and chief strategist, Robin as tech support and stealth expert, Superboy as the one-man powerhouse, Miss Martian as the conduit for communications as well as their telekinetic specialist. Then Zatanna as their most versatile member with her "spells" (Wally was still convinced it was all just advanced quantum physics, bioscripting, and fancy hand movements, but he wasn't complaining), and Artemis as their impeccable crack shot.

Together, they made a solid team, a formidable force, but… they weren't quite invincible. Not even the League was perfect, let alone their teenaged counterparts. The Team simply had holes, both offensively and defensively.

And that's where Kid Flash came in. His role was to fill those holes, to watch the others' backs, to step in at high speed when the going got rough and make things happen. Unlike the others, he could track and interpret the battleground from multiple angles in a split-second and seemingly be in multiple places at once. In a moment, he could tackle Robin out of the path of a bullet, and almost immediately sprint up and off the side of a pillar to take out an airborne enemy aiming for Miss Martian. He could clear a path through a horde of opponents for Superboy to reach a target, and he could cover Aqualad indefinitely while the Team's leader recalculated and revised the Team's plan.

In all honesty, Kid Flash was usually in charge of taking out about one-half to two-thirds of whatever foes they fought. Why? Because he was able to, because he was capable. Wally had no gadgets or weapons, no "sorcery" or "magic" techniques, and no super strength or Kryptonian constitution.

All he had was speed. He was a one-trick pony, and for the most part, he did his one trick really well.

But when his one trick, his unique velocity, didn't make the cut? When someone, usually Robin, brought up the fact that he  _did_ , in fact, have a "top speed", an insurmountable  _limit_  to his ability? When everyone remembered that there was a reason why he was called  _Kid_  Flash? When it became painfully obvious that Wally was forever  _exponentially slower_  than the Flash himself, who didn't even have a top speed, as far as anyone knew? That he just could  _not_  measure up to his mentor?

Well, it became clear that Wally was the most inadequate member of the Team. A cheap knock-off of the Fastest Man Alive.

... An actual sidekick.

The Team was only as strong as its weakest link. And at the moment, that weak link was the very reason why a young boy might  _die_  in this bed before the hour was up.

Gar's nose was bleeding and his head was wrapped in bandages. "He doesn't have that much time. What's Superboy's blood type?" Mrs. Logan was doing her best not to sound hysterically desperate.

Robin had a frustrated bitterness in his voice at the situation as he replied, "He's Kryptonian. And Miss Martian—"

"-Might be able to help," Miss Martian timidly interrupted, entering the bedroom with Superboy close behind. "My shape-shifting occurs at the cellular level. I think I can morph my blood to match his…"

Mrs. Logan grabbed Miss Martian's shoulder tightly with one hand, clinging to what was the last glimmer of hope. "Please.  _Try_."

After a pause, Miss Martian placed a hand to her head and closed her eyes. "I'll need to concentrate. No distractions."

At once, Mrs. Logan hurriedly shoved Robin, Wally and Superboy through the doorway. "Out. All of you, out." As the door closed in their faces, obstructing the view of Gar and their teammate, Wally couldn't help the deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. All hope rested on Miss Martian's shoulders, while he bore the burden of despair upon his own.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 23, 11:17 CST**

_Not. Yet._

It was taking every ounce of Barry's being to resist, to hold himself back, and for the moment it was working.

He wanted nothing more than to rise from his seat in the station's darkroom, excuse himself from work for the day, suit up and run out to track down Boomerang and the other Rogues on foot. His fingers kept reaching down to pull out his comms unit and contact his nephew to share the (very, very bad) news, and give a warning and some guidance.

But he knew that neither action would do any good in this situation. To begin with, Wally was on a Team mission in Qurac this very second, and probably wouldn't be back until sometime late tomorrow at the earliest. And Barry knew better than to distract a hero from a mission, especially one so volatile and dangerous. He would wait until the Team checked in when the mission was accomplished.

Hunting down Boomerang, likewise, was neither practical nor advisable. Like Bruce said that morning, the Rogues were almost impossible to seek out based on their wardrobe choices alone. And with the huge head start they managed to get since vanishing off their transport last week, they might have even left the country by now. The whole planet was at their disposal, and Barry… actually had better things to do with his time.

He had an idea. One that would hopefully take care of  _one_  of the two catastrophes on his plate – by saving Wally from the unimaginable fate outlined in the report on the table beside him.

Barry pulled his phone from his pocket, selected the contacts for Bruce, J'onn and Dinah, and began to text the group.

Barry:  _Who's got lunch plans?_

J'onn:  _As always, I am free._

Dinah:  _With the day I'm having, yeah, I could use a break. Just tell me where and when._

Bruce:  _… Why?_

Barry:  _Just found out something about Wally, and it's serious. Really serious._

Barry:  _As in, life-and-death serious._

Barry:  _Starbucks on East Main Street here in Central City, 2pm CST. I could really use all of your help._

J'onn:  _Consider it done._

Bruce:  _We'll be there._

 _Thump-thump-thump!_  The sudden pounding of a fist against the darkroom's door caused Barry to literally fall out of his seat. "Barry?" Justin called from outside. "Ya okay in there? You've been locked in that room for nearly two hours. Makin' any headway?"

 _Shoot, it's been that long already?_  "Uh, yeah, man. I'm just, uh, rechecking the data. I'll be out in a second."

Justin hummed nervously. "Alright, but Richardson's 'bout ready to rip your head off. Just an FYI."

The sound of Justin's footsteps retreated from the door, and Barry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. As he picked himself up off the floor and returned his phone to his pocket, his eyes zeroed in on the bagged boomerang resting on the counter beside the lab report.

As much as this situation sucked, Barry felt a little better knowing that his colleagues would help him find a solution soon.

Even so, the words on the highlighted paragraph on the last page of the report gave him chills.

 _**Recommendation:** _ _Immediate removal and destruction of all traces of substance from human access is vital. Poses extreme threat when electrical currents are in the vicinity, especially dangerous for those in direct physical contact for long periods of time._

As Barry exited the darkroom to return to his workstation in the main laboratories, every passing second was another ton of baggage on his shoulders. For now, he had to stick to his job and wait for time to pass; and that was the problem.

Better than anyone, Barry Allen knew that there was no time to waste.

* * *

 **QURAC  
** **November 23, 10:41 UTC+2**

There was nothing to do but give Miss Martian space and hope for the best. The three boys returned to the living room, Robin flopping into an armchair, Superboy returning to his spot by the window, and Wally continuing his pacing. Robin groaned and buried his head in his hands, and Wally frowned sympathetically. This was  _so_  not how his friend's first mission was supposed to go.

Robin began to rant (not that Wally could blame him), his hands gesturing wildly. "I can't believe this. First we interfere with invading Bialyan forces twice, letting them know that we're in the area and planning to stop them. Then we get a civilian injured – or worse – and set their names on the enemy's hit list. We've already lost over half a day and we haven't even gotten near the capital city of Dhabar... And on top of all this, Harjavti steps down  _tomorrow_ , subjecting all of Qurac to this danger." He threw his hands up and covered his head in frustration. After a pause, he turned to Wally. "K-KF, can you find a news station?"

"Sure," Wally replied quickly. He needed something to  _do_. "Which remote is it?" he wondered out loud, pressing a random button on one of the three controllers in his hands.

The television flickered on, and the sound of a bell ringing came forth from the speakers, followed by an early 1980's TV show music introduction, " _Hello, Megan_!"

What followed was perhaps the most cheesy, bizarrely familiar, freakishly adorkable title sequence Wally had ever seen. Superboy had turned his gaze away from the bedroom door down the hall in surprise, approaching the TV. Wally exchanged a glance with Robin, who had risen from his seat as the song continued.

This cheerleader looked like M'gann – too much like her.

_There… there were no words._

"Maybe it's a coincidence?" Superboy eventually suggested, as a frantic  _M'gann_  ran across the screen with a steaming pot of hot mess. (Actually not too far off from reality, on some days.)

Oh-ho- _ho!_  The TV chick's boyfriend is a tall, black-haired, chiseled-jaw, well-built guy named Conner? Really? ...  _Really?_  Wally grinned incredulously, mentally recording this entire scene for eternity. "Oh yeah, pure coincidence," he whispered to Robin slyly.

Possible blackmail material? Naturally. Souvenir!

"It's done," Miss Martian suddenly announced from behind them, sounding a bit drained. "All we can do now is wait."

Switching the TV channel input in a flurry, Wally glanced at the green telepath out of the corner of his eye, still trying to digest the fact that his teammate was the star of an 80s sitcom. Or something along those lines.

Anyway, it turned out President Harjavti was giving an address at his Dhubar palace, spouting nonsense of the fabulous union under Queen Bee's rule. Robin enhanced the pixelated screen with his gauntlet, displaying the lovely mug of everyone's favorite psychic henchman, Psimon. The same guy they "coincidentally" met in Bialya that one time everyone got a random helping of amnesia.

Wally facepalmed. "Ugh, I still remember the headache from when he brain-blasted us."  _Same bat place, same bat channel._

"We have to get Harjavti away from him," Robin uttered, mouth turned to a focused frown. Receiving the all-clear on Gar's condition from his mom seemed to breathe life into a so-far rocky endeavor for the Team. "We have our mission," the Boy Wonder said, leading the way out to the Bioship. (Clearly, he was emulating Aqualad as best he could.)

Wally looked back at the Logan house as they lifted off.  _Make sure you pull through, Gar. Be strong, buddy._

* * *

 **DHABAR  
** **November 23, 22:11 UTC+2**

The team ended up infiltrating the palace from above during nightfall, making use of the almost cliche method of sneaking through the air vents. Robin used the infrared scanner in his gauntlet to pick out how many heat signatures were in the room holding Harjavti - it seemed he was alone, which was ideal. One by one, they dropped soundlessly to the ground. Robin slowly exhaled, calming his mind to boost his awareness.

_Just grab the guy, make the getaway, debrief with Batman. Quick and clean._

But Robin had barely said to the disoriented president, "Let's get you out of here," before the room was surrounded by enemy forces.

Fantastic. Nothing is ever easy, is it?

A voice filled with equal parts disdain and joy muttered, "Well, well. American heroes, here to assassinate the president. Such a shame we arrived too late to stop them."

Oh, this was just  _perfect_. What was the one thing they didn't want to happen? Cause an international incident. What was about to happen?

An international incident. Robin grit his teeth in frustration; they were all on thin ice. And more bad news: these Bialyan forces were wielding Apokoliptan weapons.

" _Form a ring around the president!"_  Robin sent out over the mindlink.

But as the icing on this non-asterous cake, Miss M suddenly decided to chase down Psimon, so now the Team was down an invisible telepath, leaving only the three of them for the  _actual mission_. Why was everyone else besides Robin having so much trouble staying on task?

"Okay,  _new_  plan," he muttered quietly so Superboy and KF could hear. "I guard Harjavti, you two keep any from getting too close."

"Copy, I'll take lateral," KF buzzed in reply before zipping out of sight, two soldiers cracking skulls against a wall 0.5 seconds later. Superboy was quick on the uptake, too, charging one of the soldiers in front of him to knock the weapon out of his hands before he fired on the president.

Ordinarily, this amount of opponents wouldn't be an issue, if it weren't for the tight space and the unpredictable weaponry at play. Crossfire could be fatal, or worse. They needed to be careful not to let too much destruction happen, or the palace's structural integrity could suffer - and they'd take the blame.

The only way to minimize damages and risk was to take out the weapons right off the bat before they fired. And so the three guys punched, kicked, pulled, dodged, blocked, and chopped methodically and efficiently through the enemy forces. Robin had to practically dance around in a circle in an effort to keep any approaching soldiers from reaching the dazed president.

Superboy was handling the front lines, while Kid Flash focused on depth, going for the back to take out the distance weapons. For about eight intense minutes, the small room was red-hot with the adrenaline-fueled heat of combat.

And just as quickly, it was silent. To be honest, things could have gotten a lot more dicey, so they lucked out, perhaps. Robin rolled his shoulders and gestured to the unconscious bodies littering the floor. "We need to confiscate the weapons and bring them back to base - they're better off in League hands."

Once Harjavti was safely entrusted with his loved ones and the rest of the surrounding rooms were swept for stragglers, Robin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. On a perfect day, they could just board the Bioship and head home. But they were lacking the pilot. Miss Martian probably needed assistance by now if she hadn't finished with Psimon already.  _Just goes to show why you don't run off on your own during a mission with other objectives..._

" _M'gann, we're coming,"_ Superboy called out on the mindlink as they ran down the corridor. And almost instantaneously, they were all simultaneously brain-blasted.  _Again_.

As he collapsed to the ground, Robin heard Kid Flash mentally groan in pain,  _"Just can't catch a break…"_

Considering that he was blacking out in the presence of an extremely dangerous telepath, Robin had to agree.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 23, 13:00 CST**

To the outside observer, there was nothing particularly notable about the four adults sitting in the booth at the Starbucks off East Main. They could be co-workers having a business meeting, friends talking about the latest news, even parents of elementary schoolers talking about the agenda for the next PTA meeting.

That was the ideal quality of coffee shops for meeting locales, as far as heroes were concerned: no one could predict your reason for getting together, and nobody cared.

In this case, four Justice League members in civvies sat relaxed in the far corner of the room, talking quietly with a nonchalant, casual air about them. Yet the conversation topic was grave indeed.

Barry steepled his fingers, looking down at the mug of black decaf with a restrained look of worry. "So then I sent the results off to lab last week, figuring that the boys in State could go more in-depth than I could with the resources here. Sure enough, the report came back today, and… well, it's bad. As in, I'm still half-tempted to run to Qurac myself right now and retrieve Wally, bring him back to the States and take care of it immediately." Exasperated, Barry rubbed his hands over his face.

"Specifics," was all Dinah said, sucking an iced latte through a straw.

Barry took a deep breath, and began to explain. " _Hyper-nanites_. They're a type of cutting-edge nanotechnology, extremely new to the science. They collect in infinitesimally small, star-like clusters and seek out electricity. Ordinarily,  _these_  nanites are used in electrical engineering because they essentially work on a cellular level and can bind almost permanently to a designated surface. In large numbers, they have the power to reroute an entire electrical grid if needed. Useful, except when in contact with human tissue.

"Since hyper-nanites are inherently drawn to electric currents, they easily like to bond with the human nervous system. Apparently, in normal human beings, hyper-nanite bonding gives a pins-and-needles sensation, but ultimately the amount of current isn't sufficient to sustain the activity, so the hyper-nanites 'die off'. With electric eels, though, they persist, and they thrive. The trick is, hyper-nanites are almost like artificial bacteria, so if they have enough 'nutrients' in the form of electrical energy, they actually reproduce - duplicate - and their clusters can expand. In living organisms, they eventually penetrate the bloodstream, reach the heart, interfere with the electric pulses that create the heartbeat, replicate unchecked, and end up killing the organism.

"Because their long-term survival depends on such a high level of raw electricity, most humans are safe. But in the case of speedsters…" Barry held up his hands, spread his fingers wide helplessly.

Bruce finished the statement. "Your bodies generate enough electricity to provide the hyper-nanites with the resources needed."

"Right. When we use our speed, our nerve synapses fire at a rate exponentially higher than an average human, sending relatively high levels of electric currents through our nervous systems. Hyper-nanites are definitely drawn to that." Barry ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in wonder. "My guess? The Rogues somehow found all this out, stole a shipment of hyper-nanites from a lab, and then coated a bunch of boomerangs with them. The Team showed up at the Flash Museum - no doubt a setup meant to draw  _me_  out - and the Rogues saw a golden opportunity to do a test run on Kid Flash. Boomerang hits, sharp blade pierces through suit, skin, and muscle, hyper-nanites are exposed to Wally's nervous system. They'd be on his nerves like bees to honey. Cue issues with pain, slow healing, possibly worse. Eventually his body's natural resistance would fail, and his nerves would start to break down all of a sudden, and it'd be downhill from there."

J'onn slowly took a sip of his coffee, eyeing the blonde speedster carefully. "What timeline do you anticipate resolving this will require?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and drumming the fingers of the other on the table, Barry muttered, "I'm not sure. I mean, gah!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm just hoping we're not too late already! It's been, what, almost a week? His system's probably already been compromised, so now we're in damage-control, hoping the hyper-nanites don't enter his bloodstream and stop his heart, and-"

" _Focus,_ Barry _,_ " Bruce quietly reminded him, taking a bite of a donut. "Stay concrete. We're going to help; share with us exactly what needs to be done."

"R-right. Right, okay." Barry rubbed his temples for a moment, and then laid out the game plan. "So, we need to grab him as soon as the Bioship touches down and get him to the Cave's med bay. Operation needs to start immediately on the puncture site so we can isolate some of the contaminants. Then we need to get them scanned and see if they match up with anywhere else in the body - which hopefully they won't, since that'd mean they'd spread through his bloodstream - and extract if necessary."

"Question," said Dinah, leaning forward across the table. "When you say 'operate' and 'extract', you're talking micro- and nano-surgery, right? I'm not sure I'm qualified - or equipped, for that matter."

Barry shook his head urgently, "No, I'd like you to handle the 'big picture', since Wally's going to need to be awake the entire time and will sustain tissue damage in the process."

Dinah's eyes widened. "You're keeping him awake? Are you sure that's wise?"

"It's necessary," the speedster replied wearily. "We'll need him to be responsive since we're working with his nervous system. It's too delicate for guesswork, which is also why I'll need you two." He glanced at Bruce and J'onn as well. "Bruce, chances are you'll have to hold Wally down while you, J'onn, lift the hyper-nanites telekinetically. It's the only way to be sure we're getting them  _all_  out. What I'll do to help isolate them is wear metal gloves and vibrate my hands above his arm, which should generate enough static electricity to attract some of the hyper-nanites away from his flesh."

J'onn nodded in understanding, but pointed out, "You do realize that you run the risk of causing mild to severe nerve damage in the area or areas of extraction, correct? Tearing the bonded hyper-nanites away from the nerve tissue will inevitably cause innumerous microscopic lacerations to the surrounding flesh. He could lose all feeling in his arm or other parts of the body - perhaps permanently."

"True. Very true. But the alternative is  _death_ ," Barry mumbled, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes to ward off the exhaustion from fretting for the past several hours. "Speedsters have very high healing factors - if Wally can recuperate over the Thanksgiving Break, he should be able to regenerate any damaged tissue. Hopefully. It doesn't matter, though. In the end, we're just going to have to risk it."

* * *

 **DHABAR  
** **November 23, 23:40 UTC+2**

" _Ah_ , and  _there's_  the headache," Wally grunted uncomfortably, sitting up and squeezing his head in his gloved hands. Ow ow ow  _ow_. Not fun.

"Psimon?" Robin asked, voice sounding pretty strained.

"He brain-blasted you," Miss Martian informed them. "I stopped him."

"Well, looks like you really returned the favor," Wally commented, looking uneasily at the drooling pale weirdo lying on the floor in a pile of rubble. "Yikes. Remind me not to tick you off…"

"We're still not finished, though," Robin sighed. "Harjavti's secure, but Qurac still isn't. We need to do something to make the world understand that the perp was Queen Bee, but we can't let them know we were involved. It has to look like everything was handled internally through the political system, so… Okay, how about this..."

While Robin started outlining a plan, Wally made his way to sit against a wall in a shadow so the others couldn't see the fact that he was sweating buckets - and not because of the warm temperature.

Ever since the adrenaline started wearing off, his heart had been working overtime, thumping so hard against his ribcage that Wally bet five bucks he'd have bruising on his chest later on. There was a hard pinching sensation in his lower spine, right at the small of his back, and his legs and knees were starting to go numb. He had to concentrate to keep his breathing under control, since his lungs kept trying to hyperventilate. And his  _arm_  felt like someone was holding it up against a chainsaw.

Still, the pain would ordinarily be something he could handle. The weird thing this time was that his entire arm was  _vibrating_ involuntarily from shoulder to wrist, which Wally figured… probably wasn't healthy.

It felt so horrendous Wally almost wanted to ask Superboy to tear it off and end his misery.

Secretly, he flipped open his gauntlet and opened the messaging app on his phone - which they weren't really supposed to use on missions, but Wally needed to reach Uncle Barry without tapping into the Justice League's frequency and tipping everyone off that he was not in good shape at the moment.

WW:  _hey uncle barry u there?_

BA:  _Kid! What's up? Are you guys winding up over there?_

WW:  _pretty much, prez is safe, making plan for the am news, will head back in a few hours … uncle barry, something's up_

BA:  _WHAT? WHAT'S WRONG?_

WW:  _hey chill out, i'm not dying or anything, my arm's just doing something weird and i'd like ur advice_

BA:  _Define "weird," Kid._

WW:  _it feels like it's being ripped to shreds and it's vibrating on its own, hurts a lot_

BA:  _Geez…. does anything else hurt?_

WW:  _back feels funny, legs are getting pins and needles, kinda numb_

BA:  _CRUD. Ok. Okokokokok, don't use your speed anymore on this mission, ok? NO. SPEED._

WW:  _k if u say so - y? do u know what's happening?_

BA:  _Too much to type - I'll explain in detail when you get back. When the Team makes it to the Cave, report DIRECTLY to the med bay, no detours._

WW:  _is this really that bad? :(_

BA:  _Basically: yes, as in we're definitely going to operate ASAP, so be prepared for that. I'm going to get ready, you should keep me posted if anything changes, and contact me when you all get stateside. Ok?_

WW:  _ok._

Well,  _that_  certainly wasn't encouraging. Wally put away his phone with a frown, trying not to let Uncle Barry's obvious internal panic get to him. The unknowns in this situation were kinda freaking him out, but he forced them out of mind to focus on the present.

The Plan: Miss Martian impersonates Queen Bee to the media, Qurac is in safe hands, the Team checks back in with the Logans one last time, and then they Bioship right on out of Dodge.

Bada-bing.

Bada-freaking-boom.

And, for once, things actually went according to plan. " _Dude_ ," Wally affectionately nudged Robin in the shoulder with a smile, "saving a country! Pretty big win for your first turn as  _lee-dur_."

But the Boy Wonder seemed pretty reserved. "Yeah. Thanks," he said softly. Something was up with his best friend, Wally knew, and maybe he needed some cheering up. But they were all tired and he was just struggling to keep his arm from trembling. They'd talk another time.

After giving their farewells and well-wishes to the Logans - and after learning new revelations about their resident Martian (by the way, Bald M'gann: still hot!), the Team climbed on board the Bioship for the long ride home.

"Gar looks like you, you know," Conner said off-handedly.

Wally spun in his seat to stare at him in surprise. "Really? You think so?"

"Yes. Especially now that his eyes are the same color as yours." * (A.N. see below)

"Huh." Wally smiled to himself, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. "Well, then he'll grow up to be quite the  _handsome_  young man, then. Good for him!" he joked, biting his lip when his upper arm twinged painfully.

_Ugh. Uncle Barry will know how to fix this._

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **November 24, 14:15 EST**

Dick was currently sitting quietly on the couch in the main room of the Cave, working on his gauntlet and trying to block out the sounds of his best friend screaming bloody murder.

They'd been going at it for over two hours now, and the way that Wally's voice was still screeching just as strong as it had at the start was getting to be somewhat impressive. No sooner had the Bioship touched the floor of the Mount Justice hanger than Barry Allen had zoomed on board, practically ripped his nephew from his seat, and carried him away to the Cave's infirmary. None of the other members of the Team had any idea what was going on; even Wally seemed surprised by his uncle's unnerving urgency as Barry briefed him in speed-speech before hauling him away.

The med bay doors slammed shut, containing what sounded like Bruce, Dinah, J'onn, and the two speedsters inside. They'd gotten to work almost instantly, from the sound of it. The whole time, the four League members were talking rapidly in hushed voices, while Wally sounded like he was thrashing about and shouting in pain. At one point, he must have been vibrating so hard that the rubber on the surgery table in the room likely started smoking, causing the fire alarms started going off and forcing Dick to hack the Cave's systems to stop the flashing lights and deafening sirens.

Whatever was going on in there, it sounded agonizing. No one could judge the teenaged speedster for the spurts of obscenities that peppered his outcries every few minutes or so.

The others decided to go for a walk while the operation was going on, but Dick elected to stay put in case they finished soon. He occupied himself with checking the world news and intelligence agency feeds from the past couple of days that they were on the mission - looking for updates on one developing story in particular.

The string of thefts with ties to Haly's Circus.

Dick frowned as his eyes scanned the holoscreen behind his shades. Things weren't looking too good for the traveling performance group where he'd grown up. He'd been trying not to think about it too much while he had responsibility for the mission over in Qurac, but it still tainted his thoughts… and possibly his judgment? The only way he could have possibly stayed focused while his old home (and his family's legacy) was be accused of criminal activity was to keep a laser-like focus on the parameters of the mission.

No distractions from their purpose helped him to avoid distractions of the more personal nature.

He felt like he needed to tell somebody about all this, to get it off his chest. He couldn't go to Bruce or Alfred; they were always encouraging him to "let go of the past and stay attentive to the future." He couldn't share any of this with other teammates like Artemis or Kaldur or Conner, since they couldn't even know his  _real name_ , let alone his secret identity and private backstory. Roy wasn't always around, and when he was, Dick preferred to stay on more... enjoyable topics than hometown angst.

Of course, with things like this, Dick always went to Wally. It was really never a question, since they mutually shared practically every tiny detail of their lives, down to the numbers and types of  _boxers_  themed after certain League heroes.

But… right now, he couldn't talk to Wally about this. For two reasons.

One, his ginger speedster friend obviously had a lot on his plate to worry about already, from having his entire secret identity blown to falling under some type of nanotechnological warfare that had the potential to _kill_  him, let alone set his hero career back. Depending on how things went.

And two, and more importantly, Wally couldn't know about the drama going on with Haly's Circus because… Dick was planning to take the Team there on a pseudo-mission. And his best friend, who knew his baggage and was aware of his roots, would  _not_ be invited. He couldn't have his best friend in the world questioning his "objectivity" on an unsanctioned mission to rescue and redeem an international traveling performance troupe.

Wally was too loyal, too good of a friend. He'd spill the beans to Bats, or he'd complicate matters by going along and constantly checking up on Dick, asking him if he was okay, pretty much breathing down his neck.

Another sudden wail from the med bay made Dick flinch in sympathy. He pursed his lips and swiped away the holoscreen, closing down his gauntlet and clasping his hands in his lap. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to himself.

Yeah, this would have to stay a secret from even Wally. For  _both_  of their sakes.

* * *

* Reference to something I noticed that I'm glad I can finally bring up here on AO3 via pictures:

_**How are these two not related?** _

 

Anyways...

_**A.N. Updated: Oodles of Notes as follows - #1: Absence. #2: Technical details from this Chapter. #3: Characterization/Plot choices. #4: The Future (oooooo).** _

**1.**  Okay, first off - the  **absence**. Long story short, the end of my 2014 summer ended up being a lot more hectic than expected. I also dabbled for a while with an RP play-by-post forum that dragged me away from fanfic writing for a long time. August came and I went to college, which ate up so much of my time I honestly think it's a miracle that I'm still alive. XD I did keep writing though - news articles for the school paper. So college went not-so-smoothly, and by winter break I'd planned to make an update, but I was frankly burned out. I basically turned off electronics for about 6 weeks. Got back to college, back to the grind, thought I'd have time to update over Spring Break but actually went on a tour with my college's gospel choir group and didn't have time to do homework, let alone write. So now it's the last week of finals period, I'm procrastinating studying for my 2 exams on Wednesday, and I broke my writer's block with good anime and a nostalgic re-reading of your lovely reviews. And... that brings us to the present! Woo! *wipes her hands clean, moves on to point duex*

 **2.** Now this chapter was pretty  **technical**  on my end for 3 very different reasons.

First off, the timestamps. By now, you will have noticed that I've gone through this entire story lately and added in those location/date/timestamps for all the scenes in the story. This is partly because I like the style of Young Justice timestamps (adds more of a "mission"-y feel to scenes imho), and partly/more practically because I started having trouble keeping track of timeline continuity. The timestamps do sync up with the YJ Timeline (at least, I've made every effort for this to be the case - but alas, I am human, and may have made some errors), and they're helpful for me when I "ad-lib" between official canon events (from the TV show/comic books) to make sure I'm judging time and distance correctly.

Why were timestamps so difficult for the past 2 chapters? Simple. The freakin' 8-hour Bioship journey across the Atlantic and back to a fictional country that was located 6 timezones away from Mount Justice.  _Getting_ the Team there was pretty simple, since I could just copy off the show's official timestamps. But getting them  _back_? Oh nelly, I gave it my best shot but probably screwed up somewhere between calculating the time difference and figuring out the speed of a Martian ship piloted by a mentally drained "teenage" Martian girl. That said. The timestamps are what they are. Haha. Ha...

Secondly, factoring in the episode. I had to rewatch "Image" dozens. And dozens. And dozens of times. To get quotes, to recall what happened first, second, etc., to double check on friggin'  _hand-placement_... I anticipated this when I started writing "Outlier" in the beginning, but the challenge was in my face this time. Syncing a chapter of fanfiction to 22 minutes of a TV show covering over 48 hours of international infiltration was... Hahahaha, it wasn't easy. I'll probably do things differently going forward. This chapter was important because it gets the ball rolling for things related to this story, so Chapters 12  & 13 were a necessary evil, but I'm not so sure about later episodes in Season One. We'll see. Things will work out.

And thirdly! Making Up Science!(TM) I am not ashamed to say that I fabricated EVERYTHING about hyper-nanites. Including the name "hyper-nanites." They are not real. They are the product of my spur-of-the-moment imagination. It's all total, utter fake science. I was tempted to do actual research into nanotechnology and find out a scientifically-legitimate cause and concept for the "stuff" messing with Wally's life, but... 1) that is too much work and I'm not getting a grade for a research project, 2) since speedsters are also fiction, it's kind of a dead-end project, and 3) making stuff up is more fun! And easier. So I invented hyper-nanites and everything about them, and I included as much detail early on as I could, because I'll be looking back on Barry's explanation myself when I'm writing later chapters. They  **will**  appear again. Often. Not just in this story. They're kind of important, for various reasons. (I'm excited for how they'll come into play... hehehehe)

 **tl;dr**  on technical aspects of writing this chapter: I have no life. Moving on!

 **3.** The past 2 chapters were important and required a lot of concentration  **plot-wise**  because a lot of seeds have been planted that will develop into plot points later on - either in this story, or in later stories in the sequence. Basically, these chapters got the ball rolling, hence "Turning Point, Parts 1 & 2". In terms of the  **character studies** , I focused a bit on Dick this go around because his motivations and Wally's story are going to come into significant contact. So, in a word...  _foreshadowing!_

And  **4.**  The  **Future**. For one, I do know where this story is going. I unfortunately seem to have lost/misplaced/thrown away this really detailed outline that was going to make my life so much easier, but hurray for memory! We are at Chapter 13 of what I estimate to be a roughly  **25-chapter story**. Halfway there! Two, if you've looked at my profile (which I'm too lazy to update, surprise surprise), you'll see that this is the first in what will ideally be a series, but instead of a trilogy, I now anticipate that there will be  **4**  stories in the sequence:

 **Outlier**  lines up with  **Season One,  
****Part Two**  (currently called " **Variable** ") takes place in the  **Hiatus**  between S1 and S2,  
**Part Three**  (currently called " **Limits** ") will line up with  **Season Two,  
****Part Four**  (which I'm currently referring to as " **Infinity** ") will take place  **after the Season Two Finale**  - " **Season Three** ," so to speak. Because you can't end Young Justice on a cliffhanger, honestly. In fact, this _ **entire series**_  (including this story) was always meant to build up to a reasonable, canonically-feasible conclusion for Young Justice and heal that empty void in that sorry excuse for a Series Finale. Okay. Deep breath, enough ranting.

Whew. Okay, that was a  _ **lot**_ _._  I wrote it mostly for my own sake, since I plan to make notes a useful tool to help me write. But if you actually managed to read all that (don't know why you would) then props to you! Major props! And apologies for boring you to death, seriously. A lot of this was really pointless to write. XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, that was a lot. I wrote it mostly for my own sake, since I plan to make notes a useful tool to help me write. But if you actually managed to read all that (don't know why you would) then props to you! Major props! And apologies for boring you to death, seriously. A lot of this was really pointless to write. XD


	14. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving rolls around, and Wally's secret identity becomes a tempting point of conversation for those "in the know". At the same time, "evil never takes a holiday," and Christmas is right around the corner for the Rogues' plans.
> 
> To complicate matters, an unprecedented action by one person will have the potential to tip the scales entirely out of Wally's favor - and the repercussions could be completely disastrous.
> 
> Heavy. On. The. Dis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Thank you everyone for the amazing response to the last update! I'm still in shock over the fact that this story has recently crossed the thresholds for 200 reviews, 200 favorites, 250 follows, and just this second a whopping 30,000 views! I'm trying to make a point to make personal replies to reviews via PM from now on, so if you use an account to comment on this story and enable the Personal Messaging feature, I'm excited to respond to you and/or any questions you might have! :)
> 
> A few side notes: I decided to update my profile, since I've aged an entire year and stuff like that. I also revamped this story's summary (to be more accurate towards the scope of the plot), and switched a genre from Mystery to Suspense - just because. All in all, Outlier's got a facelift, and I'm picking up momentum, so here's Chapter 14!
> 
> Just like before, there are few notes at the bottom author's note. This chapter intersects with EPISODE 24: "AGENDAS." And hey, looks like some school faculty will make an appearance again, since they've been a bit out of the picture for a few chapters. Woo-hoo!
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie

**14**

**CATALYST**

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
November 24, 17:29 EST**

"And that's… that's a wrap, folks," Barry panted, shaking his head and flicking droplets of sweat from his blonde hair. His chest was heaving in a desperate attempt for air, his arms and shoulders and torso trembling from sheer exhaustion. His hands dropped to his sides, weighty metal gloves slipping from his fingers to clank noisily onto the stone floor. Barry blinked rapidly and braced himself against the operation table, blue eyes somewhat dimmed from their usual vibrancy.

Almost five and a half hours after the Team's return from Qurac, the operation to extract the hyper-nanites from Wally's body was complete.

Was it one-hundred-percent successful? Jury was still out on that. But they'd all done what they could.

Barry wearily glanced at his fellow League heroes. For Dinah - who stumbled to the sink to wash her hands before collapsing into a chair - an extended surgery on a vibrating patient who ironically received  _more_  injuries as the operation progressed had been anything but easy.

J'onn was still upright, which was more than you could say for the rest of them, but his face was contorted in an expression of… Barry decided to go with "extreme vexation." Fingers pressed to his forehead, red eyes glancing off to the side, mouth almost pouting - all indicators that the Martian was battling with his own form of mental stress after hours of fine-detail telekinetic effort.

Now, Bruce came out in decent shape, considering he was the one in charge of pinning Wally down continuously against the speedster's involuntary thrashings and jerky movements. He'd been strategic and planned ahead for his job well - as the Dark Knight was  _always_  prone to do - and wore his actual Batman suit to the med bay that day, since it was relatively resistant to the friction and saved him from having all his flesh burned away in the process. That said... when Bruce sat down on the adjacent operation table and gingerly peeled his way out of his suit, his torso was marked with countless bruises and scrapes. He started wrapping ace bandages around his chest, and Barry made a move to help him out, but Bruce waved him away and nodded towards Wally, indicating that Barry should focus on his nephew at the moment.

And Wally, bless the kid, was amazingly still awake and alert. Though not altogether lucid, which was more than understandable after the sudden ordeal he'd just endured. Barry observed his nephew with tired concern as the ginger teen lay limp on the operation table, barely breathing, barely moving, eyes narrowed to anguished green slits, his freckles stand out like constellations against his pale face.

But he was still conscious, after all that.

_What a trooper._

"Hey, Kid." Barry eased himself into a chair next to the redhead, who was lying on his side, his head cushioned by his non-injured arm. Wally had to roll over a third of the way through the surgery when they scanned his body for the hyper-nanites and realized they'd traveled all the way up his arm and most of the way down his back, which was causing the numbness in his legs. Extracting the miniscule contaminants from his spinal cord was the most nerve-wracking part of the operation - no pun intended. By the end of it, bandages wrapped nearly half of his body.

"'Sup, Uncle Barry..." Wally whispered groggily, his voice hoarse and scratchy after screaming at the top of his lungs for so long. "Um… r-remind me... to tell ya 'bout this thing w-we found 'bout M'gann… 's funny…"

With a huff of amusement, Barry ruffled his nephew's hair with a small smile. "Sure thing, Kid. How ya feelin'?"

Wally grimaced and grinned at the same time, making an uncomfortable face. "Like I jus' got shoved through a meat grinderrr… turned into 'psketti… I dunno… reeaal hungryyy."

"I'll bet. Alright, we'll get you some food later."

"'Kay... Uncle… Barry?" the ginger teen asked, eyes nearly closed all the way. "'S cool if I... pass out now?"

Barry looked down at Wally with sympathy. After all, he'd just pulled a long mission on little to no sleep, and then he was forced to stay awake through a grueling full-body operation. He deserved a rest. "Go right ahead, Kid."

Wally was out like a light.

After a few seconds, Barry stood to his feet again, shuffling over to sit next to Bruce and help him tend to his bruises. "Thanks again for helping, Bats," he muttered, careful to protect Bruce's secret identity from any eavesdropping ears outside. Gently, Barry pressed gauze against a cut on the back of his friend's shoulder with a frown.

Bruce noticed that his mind was preoccupied. "What's wrong?" the billionaire questioned, not flinching as he moved to bandage a raw burn on his hip. "Operation was a success. Kid Flash is starting recovery. The hyper-nanites are contained." He nodded at the canister on the other side of the room that was encased in rubber to keep the hyper-nanites from infiltrating either of the speedsters' bodies. "All is well."

"Yeah, looks like it," Barry mumbled in half-hearted agreement. But something else was troubling him.

Dinah walked over to take Wally's vitals one last time before rolling her chair closer to them. "You're still worried about the Rogues."

Bingo. Barry sighed, looking down at his hands in frustration. "See, the thing is that they're still out there, and for all we know, they have a lot more of the nanites on hand. If Wally was the "test case", then that means they've already got bigger plans to take the  _both_  of us out for good. And we're extremely vulnerable - there's no way to fight this, since even our suits generate crazy levels of static electricity." He slowly shook his head in vague wonder. "It's honestly kind of _genius_  when you think about it."

"Don't," was all Bruce said. "Don't think. Save it for another day, another time. You need a break too, Flash. When's the last time you slept  _well_?"

Barry shrugged. He didn't really have an answer.

Across the room, J'onn was already dipping into that Martian-hibernation-trance-standing up thing, and Dinah was grabbing her coat. "I'm going to make a dinner run. How's Italian sound?"

"Like manna from heaven, Canary," Barry moaned, running his fingers through his hair and making the strands stick up at humorous angles. "Can you make sure to get lots of lasagna, extra cheese? That's Kid's favorite."

"Copy that," she said, smiling. Out of them all, Dinah managed to walk away from these kinds of high-stakes events with not a hair out of place, looking fresh and fit as always. Barry was very jealous. She pressed the button that unlocked the med bay doors, and as the thick metal portal opened, Dick was standing on the other side, hands in his pockets. "Robin!" the blonde woman exclaimed in surprise. "How long have you been waiting out there?"

"A while. Penne with mozzarella, please," he said quietly, walking into the infirmary without another word to sit in the chair next to Wally.

 _Those two sure are close_ , Barry thought to himself fondly. "Whelp, I'm going to take a shower," he announced out loud, standing to his feet and stretching his arms above his head. He could use the hot water after using concentrated speed only in his hands and arms for the whole surgery.

" _Please do_ ," Bruce grumbled in his low, gravelly voice.

"Harsh, Bats!" he responded, clutching his chest in mock-offense. "Let me know if anything's up."

After leaving the room, Barry passed through the main space of the Cave on the way to the showers, where the entire Team had gathered, including the ones who weren't on the Qurac mission. It was the day before Thanksgiving after all, so by now everyone was out of school for the short holiday break.

At the sight of the tired speedster, the Team stood to their feet. "How is he, Flash?" Artemis asked, her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised in nervous expectation.

Barry made an exaggerated face of grief and slowly lowered his face into his palm. "Oh, it's  _very_  tragic, kids. He pulled through most of it… but in the end, it was…  _just too much_." He hiccupped in a false sob before looking up and grinning broadly. "Kidding!"

They weren't very amused.

"So... he'll be okay?" M'gann asked, hugging herself with a worried expression.

"'Course," Barry replied, taking a detour into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "This is  _Kid_ we're talking about. We Flashes are resilient, fast healers. I estimate he'll be back to good condition by the end of the break."

Everyone exhaled, making Barry smile gently. "You were all pretty worried, huh? That's cute."

Artemis, true to form, rolled her eyes with a shrug. "Eh. With the noise he was making, we thought Drama Queen was dying. That's all."

"It is a relief to hear that Wally will make a quick recovery," said Kaldur in his low, respectful voice. "Thank you for sharing this with us, Flash."

Barry chuckled, biting into a granola bar before stating, "Anytime, kids. Er, teens, er- sorry. Heroes. Responsible, adult heroes. Not sidekicks,  _partners,_ I mean... th-that is… gee, I'm not very good at this," he sighed.

But you had to cut him some slack, he was pretty out of it at this point.

Before stripping out of his bright red suit to take a shower, Barry gave his wife a call.

" _Barry!_ " Iris answered with a shout of intensity. "Where are you? What've you been doing? Is Wally with you? Are you boys alright?"

Barry winced at his wife's anxious voice, sitting down on a bench. "Hey, honey. We're both fine. Um… And by 'fine', I mean that… Wally's out of…  _s-surgery?_ " he said tentatively, bracing himself for the earful that inevitably followed.

" _ **Surgery?!"**_

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 05:00 CST**

Now, Wally knew there  _must_  have been a good reason why he was up in the wee hours of the morning on Thanksgiving Day rewatching the previous season of CSI saved on DVR while wearing Flash footie pajamas, a Batman beanie, and a Superman scarf around his neck.

Likewise, he knew there was a rational explanation why no fewer than forty-five empty bags of Doritos and Lay's and fifty-five cans of Mountain Dew already surrounded him on the day of the legendary bi-annual West-Allen Family Feast.

And of course, there had to be a logical purpose for his present snacking on peanuts while declaring to the TV at random intervals, "Deez nuts?  _Ha, got 'eem!_ ", even though this meme in particular would not actually be _conceived_  until more than four years after the fact.

There must have been plenty of good reasons for all of this unusual behavior, Wally figured. He just… couldn't put his finger on it at the moment.

"It's because you're on drugs, Kid." Uncle Barry said, practically reading Wally's thoughts as he descended the steps from upstairs and made his way to the kitchen to start making coffee. "Not just simple painkillers either - _real_  drugs, like morphine. That  _hardcore_  stuff." Mug of caffeine in hand, Barry smiled and sat next to his nephew (after clearing away the trash and crumbs). "You're basically high right now."

"Ah! That explains it," Wally said happily - and perhaps a bit dopily - and settled back against the coach, readjusting his Superman scarf with contentment. "Mornin', Uncle Barry."

"Good morning, kiddo. Happy Thanksgiving."

Wally, finding that phrase  _incredibly hilarious_ for no real reason (he really was high), had to restrain a giggle. Coughing awkwardly and chugging another can of soda, he asked curiously, "Well, I know why I'm up before the crack 'o dawn, but… what's your excuse? Patrol? I'll come too!"

Barry stared at Wally, who he knew was concealing bandages around practically every inch of his body beneath those footie pajamas, for a solid ten seconds. "Yeah… you really look like you're up for crime-fighting at the moment," he remarked dryly. "No, I'm making brief rounds and then reporting to the Watchtower for a League meeting."

Wally crunched on his chips and groaned, flopping his head back exaggeratedly and sending his spiky hair flying at all angles. "Awww, but it's a  _hol-i-dayyy-yuh_ ," he slurred in mild disappointment. "Why's y'all gotta do all that borin' stuff right  _now_?"

With a chuckle, Barry flicked his loopy nephew's head and stole a chip. "It's one of the few times a year where all the League members are free to meet at one time, since everyone is off from their day jobs. It won't take long, Kid. I should be back by around noon at the latest, so I'll still make it to the Feast."

"You better," Wally pouted, fully aware that he was acting like a kindergartner at the moment but not really caring. "What're you gonna talk about?"

"Uh… I actually wasn't going to tell you this, but…" Barry thought about it while CSI switched to its commercial break. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged. "Whatever, I'll tell you. Our agenda is deciding if the League should expand, and if so, voting on which heroes we'll induct to the League for the New Year."

At this, Wally sobered up  _fast_ , nearly choking on his chips and slamming down his soda can on the table with a sudden  _bang_. "W-what? Are… are you  _serious_?" he asked in shock, sitting up and leaning towards Barry. Slowly, his mouth turned into a smile. "Do-d you think I've got a real shot at making it? I mean, this is what the Team's been after since summer!"

Barry didn't like getting people's hopes up when it wasn't necessary, but at the same time, his tendency was to be optimistic, and he encouraged that in Wally whenever he could. Plus, he  _did_  actually feel pretty confident about the vote for making Kid Flash, Robin, Red Arrow and Aqualad full League members, especially considering that these four had the most experience of the kids on the Team. "Sure. I'd say I like your chances," he eventually said with a wink.

Wally spazzed out for a few seconds - as speedsters tend to do - and pumped his fists repeatedly while shouting the word "yes" dozens of times in speed-speech. With a laugh followed by a grimace, he decided, "You know, this would be one of the greatest days of my life! If, you know, I wasn't practically in a full-body cast and healing from invasive surgery."

Shaking his head, Barry smirked and rubbed Wally's back gently. "Ah, Kid, you're too much. Promise me you'll take it easy for the next week or so. I want you back right by my side at full strength, not tiptoeing behind me in too much pain to defend yourself, got it?"

"Got it- but what if I see crime? What I just feel so darn pressured to step in on a mugging and save that damsel in distress?" Wally joked.

"Then you'll end up injured, I'll hear about it, and you'll be grounded for a month. That sound fair?" Barry grinned, but with a glint of warning evident in his eyes.

"...  _Yeesh_. Sure, that sounds decently fair…" Wally's eyes widened.

"Good." They fell into a comfortable silence for a while as CSI returned from its commercial break. Barry figured he'd stay until the end of the episode before Zeta-tubing up to the Watchtower.

During a quiet moment on-screen, Wally sighed, slowly rubbing his arm and looking pensive. "Y'know somethin', Uncle Barry?"

"Hm?"

"If no one from the Team gets voted into the League, that's… that's still alright with me." Wally rubbed his neck, his knee, his side, before slowly crossing his arms. "I'm still more than happy to be your partner, even if the rest of the world decides to call me 'sidekick'. I feel honored to even have  _that_  title, that role, that chance to fight with you. It's... really all I've ever  _actually_ wanted." Quickly, he added, "B-but don't tell Dick that, though! He'll chew me out."

Barry, being the big, emotional  _sap_  that he was, found himself in the oh-so-manly position of holding back tears.  _I feel so touched_.

"Thanks, Kid," he eventually whispered, meeting his fellow speedster's glazed green eyes with mutual respect. "That means a lot. Really." Several trains of thought running through his mind, Barry eventually inhaled and patted his nephew's knee, saying, "But for what it's worth, you've grown a lot in the past few years. When you want to go solo… I know you're already more than ready. Especially because… well, because I can't… I mean… I think we both know that I won't be Flash forever, right? After all, I picked up where Jay had left off, and one day-"

"Uncle Barry." Wally's eyes were mostly clear as his face became very serious. "I want to make sure you know that I absolutely will  _not_  be replacing you as Flash any time soon. Not happening."

Neither of the two speedsters said it out loud, but they shared a meaningful glance, so both knew what the other was thinking. Barry thought that Wally would be able to rise to the occasion should... something happen. Wally, on the other hand, felt that it would take him at least another ten, fifteen, twenty years before he could match his mentor's level - until then, he wasn't worthy to don the mantle.

They'd had this discussion before, of course, on multiple occasions. Neither was going to give way anytime soon. Fortunately, they didn't have to come to a consensus for a long time.

Hopefully that would continue to be the case.

After the episode ended and Barry tossed a garbage bag on Wally's face, telling him to "tidy up before your aunt gets downstairs," the two went about their business. Barry, spinning into his red suit, made his way to the Watchtower. Meanwhile, Wally had plans for Thanksgiving breakfast with his family, making a few batches of stuffing with his mom for dinner later that day, and stopping by the Cave to grab some things that he'd left behind in the chaos following the mission. He knew explaining why he was prescribed for a week of heavy morphine to his worry-prone parents wouldn't be 'fun', but really, this was hardly the worst shape he'd come home. (Nothing compared to the night he  _got_  his powers, after all.)

And so, the day began.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 09:23 CST**

Melissa Evans rang the doorbell of her brother's home, bags of produce weighing in her hands and a few matters weighing on her shoulders that caused the corners of her mouth to turn downwards. But when Tim opened the door with a big grin and two adorable children under the age of six ran out to hug her legs with gleeful chants of "Aunt Mel! Aunt Mel!" ...

Well, it was hard to stay in a troubled mood.

The Cudjo kids were hyper but well-meaning, and they helped her carry her grocery bags into the house. "Careful not to drop them! Take your time!" she called after them, smiling fondly at her brother who welcomed her through the doorway.

"Hi, Sis," he returned the smile, but with worry clearly seen in his eyes. "How are you holding up?"

Melissa wasn't one for dramatics, so her sigh wasn't exactly moody as she replied, "As well as can be expected, I guess." Walking in, she laughed and chatted with the other adult relatives present in the Cudjo house, exuding the image of comfort in the environment. She worked on the macaroni and cheese along with her mother and seasoned the turkey with her cousin, and all in all she appeared nothing short of cheerful.

But internally, she was still emotionally raw from the trauma of the past few days. Out of the blue, Melissa and her husband found out that she had a miscarriage - a soul-shattering blow to the couple who had been trying for years to have a child and just managed to conceive last month. Their marriage seemed to rapidly collapse under the sudden loss, and not two days later, her husband had decided that it was best for them to "take a break."

Whatever  _that_  meant.

Hence her arrival at her brother's house on the day of Thanksgiving without her spouse at her side.

It was a lot to process, and processing was something she'd work through  _after_  the holiday festivities with her family. Maybe she'd find a therapist. Until then, the hard-shelled nurse resolved to continue doing what she did best: compartmentalize her feelings. No one liked a bitter Auntie at a family gathering, after all.

"Hun, just do yourself a favor and stop lying to yourself," Melissa's mother quietly said, completely out of left field.

"W-what? Momma, what are you talking about?" she responded, instantly on guard. Her mother could be extremely perceptive, but Melissa thought she was doing a good job of hiding her inner turmoil.

"Missy," her mother said curtly, placing her hands on her hips and pursing her lips in stern displeasure at her daughter. "Do you think I'm stupid? Me, who changed your diapers and fed you, clothed you for eighteen years, you think I can't tell when my baby girl is upset about something?"

Melissa didn't know what to say. She focused on the turkey, replying with calm, careful, "You're not stupid, Momma. But I'm fine."

"Fine.  _Please_." Mama Cudjo was all-to-happy to smack her daughter on the wrist with the wooden spoon in her grasp.

"Ack!  _Momma_! Cut it out!"

Her mother made a face and put down the spoon, cleaning her hands on a rag and leaning up against a counter. "Mm-hmm. I knew it. Testy testy. Little Missy, just go ahead and share what's on your mind."

"Wha…" Melissa's eyebrows climbed high up on her head as she came to accept the fact that her mother's intuition always overcame her own bottled-up tendencies. "Fine. Okay, you win, Momma. As always," she sighed, dusting off the rest of the seasoning on her hands over the turkey and stuffing it in the oven, gently closing the door before setting the timer accordingly. Turning to face the woman who raised her with pinpricks of tears at the corner of her eyes, Melissa was quiet as she struggled with bringing up the best topic of interest for the moment.

If she were honest with herself, the fact that George abandoned her less than twenty-four hours prior was the main source of her pain. The miscarriage was a close second. Together, her potential family of three had deteriorated to just herself in a very short time.

But her mother knew about the baby. And…

She was not eager to bring up George leaving her in  _this_  setting. Her marriage with the man was always a point of contention between herself and her mother - who had never approved of her choice in spouse. Part of that was her mother's old-fashioned sentiments, coupled with strained race relations. The Cudjos were Black and of the South, and the last thing Melissa's mother expected was for her daughter to fall in love with and wed a White man.

Naturally, Melissa didn't want to bring up her own interracial marriage (and therefore her social and political views) at a pleasant family gathering, when that was a conversation better saved for another time. She wished to _avoid_  conflict today, not cause it.

The only other thing she could reasonably attribute her distress to was…

Well.

There  _was_  the fact that one of the students at her school was a superhero.

Talking about Wally would be an easy way out of this confrontation with her mother, after all. Knowing Wally's situation had added stress in the form of worry for the sixteen-year-old, and it'd be an interesting subject of conversation that would steer her mother away from Mel's personal life. It'd be so easy to explain:  _An endearing ginger student at Keystone moonlights as Kid Flash, and now I can't stop thinking about if he's okay or not._

Sure, she wasn't supposed to talk about it at all. Wally had emphasized that at the unveiling meeting, and the last thing Melissa wanted to do was break her promise to keep his secret identity confidential.

_Loose lips sink ships, people!_

Wally's words at the time.

Still, this was  _so_  tempting to bring up when her mother had her cornered and she was grasping at straws for an excuse for her case of the blues.

"I'm waiting, Missy," her mother urged, tapping her foot with her arms crossed.

Oh boy. She definitely felt the pressure.

… But if anything, experienced trauma nurse and veteran wartime medic Melissa Rachelle Cudjo-Evans  _thrived_ under pressure. And so, choosing to go down the inevitable rabbit hole rather than blow Wally's cover, she replied with a sense of courage, "George left me." And braced for the storm of conflict that would soon follow with Mama Cudjo.

 _So be it. I for one refuse to be the one to bury Kid Flash_ , she decided.

* * *

**THE WATCHTOWER  
November 25, 06:52 EST**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that speedsters like to make an entrance in the most obnoxious fashion possible. It applied to Wally, and it certainly applied to Barry.

_Recognized. Flash. 04._

"Good mooooooorning Watchtower! And wow, I am on time for the  _second_  League meeting in a row! Who's on a roll?  _This_  fine-looking gentleman right here! " Barry announced, moonwalking backwards out of the Zeta-tube. About eight voices groaned, while the rest of the gathered heroes greeted his arrival with varying degrees of energy.

"Too early, Flash," called out Hal, and Barry recognized the particular edge in his voice. Zipping over to sit next to his best friend and fellow League member, the blonde speedster chuckled good-naturedly as he pulled up his holoscreen and checked his email.

"And a good morning to you, too,  _Mister_ Green Lantern. Hungover again, I see," Barry teased under his breath. "Crazy night, eh?"

Hal stiffened and muttered in his typical  _I'm-Hal-Jordan-and-gee-big-shocker-I've-got-a-migraine-because-I-am-incredibly-hungover-today_  voice, "Man, shut  _up…_  i-is it that obvious? Crap, I'm screwed if Bats or Supes finds out."

"And… what? I don't count?" John grumbled on Hal's other side, scowling but not looking up from his cell phone.

"Aww, you count, too!" Hal acknowledged with a cheesy grin. "But I know  _you_  won't snitch, bro. My homie. My Green Lantern brother-from-another-mother, my-"

"Just. Stop," John's frown broke into an amused expression. "As long as you can stay on task, your mental state is none of my business today."

"Good man!" Hal said, a drop of nervous sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

Barry bumped his shoulder reassuringly, "Hey, don't worry about it. I just know you too well. Besides, no one can tell that your eyes are bloodshot behind your mask." He snickered. "Heck, solidarity, buddy! For all these guys know,  _I'm_ hungover behind the whites of my cowl!"

"You're hungover, Flash?" Hawkwoman asked. Black Canary raised an eyebrow.  _Oops, too loud on that last part._

" _No!"_  Barry blurted loudly. "Heh. No, no, no. Ladies. Please, rest assured. I am completely sober. Can't even get drunk, hehe. Metabolism, remember? … It's a joke. Funny?" He gulped as their looks of suspicion didn't fade. " _'Kay_ , not funny. Gotcha."

Next to him, Hal facepalmed. "Ladies and gents, the  _Flash_. Smoothest Man Alive."

"And your sarcasm is  _so_  appreciated!" Barry rolled his eyes, scrolling through the meeting agenda with a sigh. "You're coming over for dinner after the meeting, right?"

"Duh, like I'd miss the big Flash Family Feast. Best food a hopeless bachelor like myself can find these days," Hal laughed. "We can Zeta over together."

Barry stretched in satisfaction. "Good to hear. And... you've got that cranberry sauce covered, right?"

Hal froze. "Uh…. yeah! Psh. Yeah, I do, I-I… of  _course_ , I mean… Thanksgiving's not Thanksgiving without the all-important cranberry sauce, and I-"

"You forgot."

"Yep. I forgot."

" _Typical_ , Hal…."

"Hey, easy solution! We'll just stop by the grocery store on the way to the house. I grab about thirty cans of the stuff, pay, and walk out. No big."

"Thirty cans of cranberry sauce will run you about forty-five to fifty bucks, you know."

"And I… am so good for it!" Hal lied through his teeth, and Barry sighed. His turn to facepalm.

"I'm joking, Hal. You may be an ace pilot and an intergalactic superhero, but even I know you can't be trusted with little things like side dishes," he mumbled with a smirk. "I've got it waiting in my fridge at home."

"Thanks. And you suck, Flash."

"But you love me." They continued to banter like this for a few minutes until the remaining four founding League members finally entered the room.

Aquaman declared, face stone-cold as always, "Our agenda is clear. What's at stake should  _not_  be underestimated."

"The decisions we make today will reverberate for years to come," said Superman.

Wonder Woman continued, "And influence whether or not the world continues to put their trust in the Justice League."

Batman nodded to the League members in mutual respect. "Please, take your seats. We have work to do."

"Serious business folks!" Barry stated, mimicking the stern tones of his colleagues. "No bathroom breaks, no snacking. No Candy Crush.  _Just._   _Business._ " Captain Marvel snickered, and Hal snorted, but otherwise it was a chilly response.  _Tough crowd..._

Barry sighed, resting his head on his hand. This was going to be a long meeting.

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
November 25, 10:25 EST**

Duffle bag of clothes, Kid Flash uniform, goggles and other assorted items in hand, Wally made his way to the kitchen for a split second where M'gann and Zatanna were working on the Mount Justice Thanksgiving meal.

Smelled  _really_  good.

… A-and by that he meant the  _food_ , of course! But... the two gorgeous ladies also had quite the appealing scent.

"Gobble gobble!" he randomly blurted.

Was Wallace Rudolph West still high? Yeah. Yeah, he was definitely still high. But that was a-okay! These meds were so  _strong_ , he could move around with ease! He didn't feel any pain, which was excellent, since he didn't want to be limping and wincing the whole day. Instead, he could run around as he pleased!

Popping a cranberry in his mouth, he exclaimed, "Oh,  _I love Thanksgiving!_ " He reached for another, yelping when M'gann playfully smacked him with a spoon.

M'gann sounded amused as she scolded him, "Those are for dinner, Wally."

" _Yelsrap egas yramesor dna emyht!"_  said Zatanna, her oddball backwards-speaking gibberish somehow translating to the magical seasoning of the turkey. "There. Seasoned to perfection and ready for the oven."

As M'gann telekinetically carried the turkey to stick in the oven, she commented, "Wally, I thought you were eating with your family."

"Oh yeah, Dad'll kill me if I'm late."  _Aha._  So that's what he was forgetting! Silly Wall-man. The drugs were making him pretty forgetful, apparently. Hurriedly, he shoved one last handful of cranberries into his mouth before shouting "See ya!" and speeding toward the Zeta-tube.

Behind him, M'gann called after him with a flustered shout, "Wally!"

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 09:40 CST**

He chuckled as he materialized in his hometown a moment later, striding off on the short walk to his house where the dinner would take place.

 _Man, these painkillers make me feel awesome! I feel… like I'm invincible!_  Wally triumphantly flexed his biceps just then in the reflective window of an Urban Outfitters, the shoppers inside casting him bewildered glances. But Wally didn't care that he looked like a weirdo to the random onlooker.  _I feel like I can take on the world!_

In fact, Wally felt so good that in that instant, he was itching to do some good-old crime-fighting. After all, by the end of the day, the League might have voted him in as a full member, a hero in his own right. It was only natural that he should take advantage of this newfound invincibility, right?  _Uncle Barry will never know, hehehe…_  he told himself. And he actually had about an hour to kill before the dinner would actually start, so...

Why not?

And so, without hesitation, Wally West ducked into a side ally, pulled his suit out of his duffle, and spun into his Kid Flash persona, striking a pose for the non-existent camera. Ditching his stuff in a dumpster, Wally dashed off down the street, waving to pedestrians and scanning for crime. Tapping his earpiece to tune into the police scanner frequency, he settled into a rhythm, feeling endorphins and adrenaline flooding his already heavily-medicated system.

Was it a bad idea to go on patrol while on drugs?

…  _Nah._

What's the worst that could happen?

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 12:41 CST**

For Tish Hasbrouck and Gabe Matthews, Thanksgiving Dinner seemed like a scene out of a romantic comedy. And… not in a good way.

Both of their parents wanted to spend the holiday with their own kid and their "future daughter/son-in-law", which would probably be okay if that didn't consequently mean both sets of parents were going to be spending time with each  _other_.

The mothers were passive-aggressive, while the fathers were just flat-out hostile. Again, it was humorous that these middle-aged parental figures would go to such great lengths to nail their counterparts with a zinger or a barely-veiled insult, and then high-five their own spouse under the table.

"Wonderful stew, by the way," Gabe's mother commented, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "You know, with some actual seasoning and a little  _heat_ … it would almost be edible!"

Tish's mother bristled and shot back, "Thank you very much. You know, that's more than I can say for some of these  _other_  dishes." She prodded clearly at the mashed potatoes with a disapproving glance.

They'd been talking about the dinner for over ten minutes now.

Tish met Gabe's eyes with an admirably tranquil yet furious glare.  _Never again_ , she mouthed, and he vehemently nodded. "Ahem!" Tish cleared her throat, smiling broadly and taking a sip of wine to ease her frayed nerves. "How about we change the subject?"

Her mother delightedly clasped her hands, "Oh, that's right! The two of you are both teachers at a local high school, isn't that right?" She narrowed her eyes at Gabe's mother, adding, "Oh right. Sorry. I meant  _my_  daughter is a teacher. Of advanced chemistry, you know. Not an...  _athletics coach_."

"Our girl has a head on her shoulders, that's for sure," Tish's father said proudly.

"Oh, um, no offense, Gabe-honey," her mother amended with a kind smile.

Ironically, Gabe's  _mother_  replied, "None taken. After all, not everyone can be as well-loved and respected as a trainer of the body and soul. Coaching isn't for everyone. Others find fulfillment in terrorizing their students with academics and painting themselves as the enemy, which is perfect for… the teacher. No offense, Tishy-dear."

 _Ouch_.  _This was really getting out of hand._

Tish grit her teeth. Honestly, they were all acting like small children. And while the parents were hashing it out, she and Gabe were getting caught in the crossfire. She had half a mind to stand up and tell them off, but stopped when she felt Gabe's foot tap hers under the table.

He raised an eyebrow, and she knew him well enough to know what he was thinking.  _We need to take control of this conversation_.

Tish sighed and pursed her lips.  _Is there anything under the sun that we could bring up that these four toddlers wouldn't fight each other over?_

With a shrug and a bite of a roll, he implied,  _Just as long as it's not about us. Then it'll just be about them, which is what they really want._

He was right, but that was easier said than done. Desperate to salvage this dinner, Tish took a long swig of wine to motivate herself, mentally running through everything halfway interesting that she could bring up.

_Oh._

How about that?

She raised her eyebrows at Gabe, and he instantly understood:  _Kid Flash_. His eyes widened, and he practically slammed his fist down on the table, only momentarily quieting the bickering.  _No! Off-limits! You cannot go that far! We can't talk about that!_

 _What choice do we have? Do you have any other better options?_  Tish gestured subtly, cutting impatiently at the turkey on her plate.  _If not, then I'm taking the plunge._

Gabe's mouth gaped helplessly as Tish lifted her chin with resolve, smiling sweetly at the parents on both sides of the table and determined to steer the conversation back on track. "Gabe and I have something exciting to share, something that we've discovered while working at Keystone High together for the past two years... In the past few weeks, a situation has been growing more and more serious. You see, we've just found out that-"

 _One of our students is the teenaged superhero, Kid Flash,_ Tish was about to say. But things ended up going quite differently.

" _We found out that we are right for each other!"_  Gabe cut in abruptly, suddenly standing to his feet, meeting Tish's eyes with his bright-eyed gaze that always made her knees quake.

The coach pushed out his chair, walking around the table to stand right next to the blonde woman, grabbing her hand in his, speaking quickly and clearly trying to suppress his anxiety. "In the past year, I've gotten to know the most beautiful, intelligent, strong-willed woman, and… I feel so grateful. I know that I've become a better man since I met you. You help me grow and you support me. Tisha Isabella Stephanie Hasbrouck, your are elegance, you are grace, you are power, and you are love. And so, today, on Thanksgiving, I want to finally express that gratitude…"

Gabe dropped to one knee right then and there, and it was Tish's turn to gape. All the parents at the table gasped, and her man drew out a satin box in his other hand, flipping it open to reveal a gleaming diamond ring. "Will you marry me?"

Feeling the tears about to drop, Tish felt her heart stop as she joyfully cried out,  _"Yes!"_ and engulfed him in a passionate kiss on the floor of the dining room.

Talk about a conversation starter.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 2, 10:02 CST**

In hindsight, maybe dashing off on patrol while intoxicated on morphine and who knows what else… wasn't the most  _spectacular_  idea Wally's had lately.

And… well… maybe it wasn't the  _brightest_  idea to purposely tick off a mugger who was clearly part of a local gang judging by the jacket he was wearing, taunting him about "you and what army?"

And  _perhaps_ \- just a thought - perhaps inviting all the mugger's buddies to take him on "right here, right now" wasn't the  _best_  move for the teen speedster to make.

Okay. Wally could admit that he'd gotten a bit carried away. And now, the smart move would be to retreat and/or call Uncle Barry for assistance. He was currently outnumbered about twenty-five to one, and with perfect timing, all those "invincible" pain meds decided to wear off all at once, leaving him trembling with barely the strength to stand.

With the state that his body was in, Wally had about a fifty-fifty chance of passing out on the spot from the pain itself, let alone from expending energy by fighting the horde of opponents that had him cornered down an alleyway.

 _Yep, you should call your mentor, Kid Brainless_.

… Or not.

After all, wasn't the League on the fence already about allowing the heroes of the Team become full members? Were they not discussing his own future with the League right this moment? Would interrupting the meeting to ask the Flash to bail out his "irresponsible sidekick" from a hole he'd purposely dug himself do any favors for his case?

No way was Wally going to call in for Uncle Barry to clean up his mess. Steeling his resolve and gathering that trademark speedster stubbornness, Wally puffed out his chest and grit his teeth. He'd finish what he'd started.

And, though he made a mistake in instigating the fight in the first place, Kid Flash was of course adept at handling large numbers of gangsters armed with both long-range handguns and short-range metal pipes. He might have been moving at about a fifth of his normal speed, but even then, he could dodge bullets and uncoordinated swings of the makeshift clubs with relative ease. If anything, he struggled with staying conscious as every punch and kick he made jarred his muscles and pulled on the stitches adorning his whole body. He didn't take any damage by the end of the three-minute conflict, but his body hated him with a fiery, burning passion.

" _Ow… ow… ow…"_ he muttered with each step on the way back to retrieve the duffle he'd oh-so-foolishly deposited in a public dumpster. After sending the coordinates for the alley of knocked-out criminals to the police through his gauntlet, Wally realized he was so wiped after the fight that he wouldn't be able to spin out of his uniform like usual. He'd need to change the slow, tedious way.

How convenient. Wally prayed there were no prying eyes as he changed back into his civvies behind the dumpster. And to make matters worse, he was probably going to be late for Thanksgiving dinner. Mom and Dad were going be so happy with their punctual son...

Little did Wally know, a cloaked figure equipped with a silver flute had perched above the alleyway where the scuffle had taken place, watching the whole thing go down in silence. His presence had been undetected, for he was an expert at stealth and surveillance. He made no move to pursue the yellow speedster, since he'd already gathered the intel needed, and he was trying to avoid another encounter with Kid Flash as long as he feasibly could.

 _So Kid Flash is still operational, though he's clearly endured some damage from the hyper-nanites. His speed is still relatively unimpaired, however. Either the nanites were administered in such a small quantity that his system was able to fight them off, or he was able to remove them before they did irreversible damage. Both could possibly be the case,_ the Pied Piper noted, watching as Kid Flash left the scene in obvious discomfort.

"Hm. Good to know," he whispered to himself before vanishing across the rooftops in the opposite direction.

* * *

**ST. LOUIS  
November 25, 20:35 CST**

Hartley was still musing about his findings hours later at Thanksgiving dinner in a fine-dining restaurant called called Boudin Noir, pensively eating gourmet stuffing while seated across from Her. Their parents had given him free reign to have the feast anywhere he liked - money being no object - as long as the location was in-state. Meanwhile, the two socialites would be spending their Day of Gratitude far, far away from their offspring.

While his parents might not have been good  _parents_ , they did still make sure their children were taken care of, Hartley thought to himself, watching Her carefully while She picked her way through her meal.

"Is it good?" he asked Her quietly, satisfied when She gave the tiniest dip of Her chin - a nod.

Conversations with Her were always one-sided, and Hartley was perfectly fine with that. She served as a good sounding board for ideas or concerns he had, and he gave Her the attention that their parents never did. They had a close relationship, even though Hartley did all the talking.

Noticing that the surrounding restaurant patrons were giving the two of them looks and whispering about them, Hartley sent them hateful glares that made them avert their eyes. "Don't pay them any attention. We're fine," he muttered, lowering his head and looking up at Her, trying to catch Her eye. "We're fine. You're fine," he said, repeating that a few times until Her shoulders relaxed again and She resumed eating.

Despite the fact that Thanksgiving was supposed to be one of those feel-good, sentimental, Hallmark-perfect holidays, Hartley'd had a bitter taste in his mouth and a sour mood all day. Sure, there was plenty to be "grateful" for this year.

But if he was truly honest with himself, the only things that really mattered had to do with his… less-than-legitimate activity. As a criminal. A thief. A trespasser. A spy.

Most recently, he'd earned the title of  _traitor_.

Hartley hadn't killed anyone yet, but he'd been in scrapes that brought him pretty close to that point. He was trying to avoid those kinds of extremes - they weren't part of his objectives - but it was bound to be inevitable, especially since he'd gotten tied up with the Rogues recently. They had a "no killing rule", but that didn't stop them from causing harm. There was always the risk of escalation in times of stress and pressure. According to Murphy's Law - anything that can go wrong, will go wrong - one bad mood could lead to unrestrained bloodshed.

On his smartphone, he was actually making plans right that moment for the future plot the Rogues dreamed up. At the touch of a button, two warehouses were reserved - one here in Central City, and the other in Yakutsk.

_Russia._

Hartley also took a moment to reserve a few transportation tickets to and from Russia to suit the timeline he'd received from Trickster a few days ago.

Done. All set.

With the plan they had in the works for the Christmas season, about a month away to date, Hartley had a hunch that the Piper's services would be required in some dangerous - potentially fatal - activity towards a certain speedster duo. Not to mention the fact that he was… unfortunately pretty close with the younger half of the pair.

It all circled back to that question that kept popping up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it: _Was all this worth it? Would the end really justify the means?_

… Of course.

Definitely.

"I'm doing the right thing," he decidedly told Her, crossing his arms and sitting back is his seat. "This is the right move."

She only blinked, continuing to stare at him with a vacant expression, and Hartley was well-aware that he was only trying to convince himself at this point.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 13:10 CST**

"Uncle Hal!"

"Walla-walla-wallaby!" The Green Lantern caught the red-headed speedster in an enthusiastic hug. "How goes it, kiddo?"

"A lot better than this time  _last year_ , that's for sure," Wally said with a laugh, and Hal and Barry joined him. And then they all winced.

_Thanksgiving '09 was an actual crap-fest. In the literal sense of the term, unfortunately. As in, the aliens decided to raid Earth during the dinner, and they were armed with their own feces. Flaming feces that could melt through houses and cars and bridges. A literal "hot mess." The city stank afterwards all the way through Christmas._

No one wanted a repeat of  _that_  this year, so… yeah, already they were onto a fantastic start.

Barry and Hal had just finished the League meeting and then picked up the cans of cranberry sauce from Barry's fridge before beelining straight to the Wests' house for the big meal. Wally, on the other hand, had stumbled home about ten minutes prior, not saying anything to his aunt or his parents until he got his hands on the morphine drip and hit the button to send the drug flooding his system once more.

_Ah. Much better._

Wally almost blacked out four times since he finished off the gang. It was a Thanksgiving miracle that he'd even made it home at all. But no one had to know that, and he'd certainly learned his lesson. As long as he didn't give any clues away to Uncle Barry that he'd ignored the promise and gone crime-fighting less than half an hour ago… he was safe.

"Hi, Honey," Iris greeted her husband, turning to give Hal a playful slap on the shoulder. "Arriving alone for dinner again, Jordan? Still can't get the ladies to stay after daybreak, hm? Speaks volumes..." she teased mercilessly.

"Iris," Hal grinned but his eyes narrowed. "You look great. Have you lost weight?"

The red-headed newscaster looked confused. "N-no, not really."

"Exactly," Hal said, walking away. Barry and Wally hollered, and Iris laughed with abandon. She and the Green Lantern always liked to give each other a hard time, no holds barred. They actually kept score, a "Burn-Count," if you will: _Iris-93, Hal-88 now._

"Okay, children," hostess Mary West huffed in good humor. "Let's finish prepping and get dinner started, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," everyone replied in unison, following Wally's mom like ducklings to the kitchen.

"So?" Wally asked expectantly while Barry speed-chopped the onions, "Any news? What'd the League decide?" He gingerly crossed his arms as the morphine continued to make its way through his system, leaving him slightly aching but in overall okay shape.

"Ah, Kid," Barry muttered, biting his lip partly out of anxiety and partly because the onion-gas made his eyes want to tear up. "You know, these things… they aren't always clear-cut, and-"

"I wasn't voted in." Wally tried not to let the disappointment hit him too hard, taking out his frustration on finishing the yams.

Barry moved on to the carrots, looking over at his nephew with sympathy. "It was  _so close,_ Kid. The others didn't get very far, I think just because they still need experience. But it was only one vote away, for you, Kaldur and Dick."

"Oh." Well that was something… Wait. "The three of us. Does that mean that Roy…?" he asked hopefully, breaking into a huge grin.

With a smile, Barry flicked a carrot piece into Wally's mouth. "Yep. The League voted to induct Red Arrow as a full member."

Wally laughed in victory and danced around the kitchen, grabbing the cinnamon and tossing it all over the oven-fresh yams.  _"Wa-hoo!"_  he exclaimed, earning a smack on his butt from his mom with a rolled-up towel.

"Hush, Wally. Inside voice."

"Sorry, Mom." But he didn't look too apologetic. "But seriously, this is great! If Roy can make it in, we all can!"

"Of course," his uncle encouraged. "I have a good feeling about next year."

"So. Who do we have to convince to get enough votes?" Wally asked deviously, cracking his knuckles as everyone carried a dish to the table. "Was it Hawkman? Doctor Fate?"

"No, they were all in favor. The one you need to worry about is… Wonder Woman."

Wally deflated. "Oh." And he left it at that. He and the Amazonian had an… interesting relationship. Getting on her good side wouldn't exactly be a walk in the park.

Looking around at everyone at the table - at his mom and dad, who were insanely supportive of his side-job; at Aunt Iris, who put up with him with saintly patience; at Hal, who gave him his best puns and subbed in when Barry wasn't available; at the Garricks, who were like the cool grandparents Wally never had; and at  _Uncle Barry_ , who meant the world to him and molded him into the best speedster he could be - Wally realized that he had a pretty remarkable set-up. Not everyone could say they had so many people who cared about them, and he knew he was fortunate to have so much more affection and love than he deserved.

For the moment, life was good. Life very good.

Little did he know, across Central City...

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
November 25, 21:49 CST**

Will Donner just really wanted to be the 'cool dad'. That's all he wanted - for his two girls to look at him with the same admiration they had for the likes of Superman, Batman and the Flash.

He wanted to be the 'cool dad', the one all the kids at their school wanted to hang out with, the favorite among the grade-schoolers.

The 'cool dad' was as close to being a superhero as an ordinary civilian could get, he thought to himself.

" _And now a story from our Crime beat reporter, Sharon Walters. Sharon?"_

" _This just in, folks. Kid Flash was allegedly seen fighting members of the local gang, The Jackals, on a side street just off Quaker Boulevard. Police have taken all twenty-five members into custody. Kid Flash vanished before we could reach him to get a comment."_ Kid Flash's image appeared on screen, and a lightbulb went off in Will's head.

… The cool dad...

Now was his chance.

"Hey… Kacey, LeShae," he suddenly announced, sitting down between his daughters on the couch. "Do you want to know a secret? A really juicy secret?"

"Wha's tha' Daddy?" five-year-old Kacey Donner asked, big blue eyes staring at her father with intrigue.

He smiled, pointing at the picture of Kid Flash on the news program. "Y'know him? Kid Flash?"

Nine-year-old LeShae giggled. "Everyone knows Kid Flash, Daddy.  _Duh_."

"Well, guess what? I know him! I've met him! He's a student at my school! And you..." he took a deep breath. "You two are gonna get to meet him!"

The girls squealed with excitement. "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Daddy, you're so  _cool!"_

And although Will was enjoying the new waves of respect from his daughters, deep down, he instantly felt a strong pang of discomfort.

He had a feeling he'd just made a very, very grave mistake.

.

.

.

_Oh no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. *kicks back in a recliner with a sigh of relaxation* So, yeah! Ahem… on to some notes: 1. POV stuff, 2. Names and Secret Identities, 3. Maintaining Wally's injuries with YJ continuity, 4. Other stuff
> 
> 1\. One thing I was experimenting with a few times this chapter was making broader POVs - where the perspective is told from two or more characters' point of views, or even no characters' viewpoints. On the one hand, I've found this to be possibly useful when I'm in a scene and the atmosphere is relaxed, there's two characters who are very comfortable with each other and know each other well, and there's already a vague quality to the scene (such as when one character is high). On the other hand, there's sometimes a certain power that's lost in the narrative when the "main character" of a scene isn't a single person. I guess this kind of thing requires a balance, and it has to be done intentionally (by accident probably doesn't always work) - the situation has to suit the method of POV (action scenes might be an interesting area to try out, esp. in a fight scene between two people where they have conflicting thought processes…).
> 
> 2\. Something else that I've really been trying to pay attention to over the course of writing this story is beingconsistent with when secret identity names are used and why. I try to stay consistent with a rule of thumb I set for myself from the beginning. For instance, the main character's POV will always think of him/herself in their own name. Hence why Wally never thinks of himself as "Kid Flash." When the characters are on a mission/in the presence of other heroes in a League setting, everyone else is referred to and thought of by their hero names. In relaxed, casual settings like the Cave, in people's homes, etc., hero names are pretty much never used at all.
> 
> The tricky part with these rules I set is the exceptions based on a few particular heroes. Dick, for one, always goes by Robin when he's around anyone besides Wally, Barry, Bruce or Alfred. Even in the Cave, the other members of the Team call him Robin - including Wally. But the "main character" rule still applies, so if a scene is in Dick's POV, then he thinks of himself as "Dick", but everyone else calls him "Robin" (or "Rob", in Wally's case). Keeping that straight can be a challenge sometimes.
> 
> In this chapter, the weird thing was juggling these nuances in the League meeting where both Hal Jordan and John Stewart (the 2 Green Lanterns) were present. Since this was League business, everyone else was called by their hero names. But how do you distinguish which Green Lantern you're talking to/about? For this, I ultimately decided that for League members, and especially with Barry (who is friends with both GLs), Hal and John were familiar enough that calling them by name was commonplace. I think when they're on outsideLeague business, however, they don't distinguish and both go by Green Lantern as far as the public is concerned. So… yeah, we'll see how these standards play out in the long run when Guy Gardner gets added between S1 and 2.
> 
> 3\. You know what was really complicated to figure out for this chapter? The fact that Wally just had an operation the day before the episode "Agendas", and yet when we see him in the Cave's kitchen with M'gann and Zatanna, he seems so chipper! My current solution for this disconnect was that he was simply sky-high on his meds and felt invincible, hence the subsequent close encounter and the decision to fight crime against Barry's wishes. If I were to be completely honest with myself, there'd really be no way Wally was even awake for Thanksgiving, let alone taking trips to Mount Justice and back and enjoying dinner with the family. Basically, I somewhat miscalculated the days between the mission and the holiday break, and the result was a delusional, heavily-medicated, goofy Wally. It is what it is!
> 
> lol.
> 
> 4\. It is worthy of note that writing Wally West high on pain meds is a very fun thing to do. Likewise, writing Hungover!Hal Jordan is enjoyable. Writing Barry and Hal and Iris snarking at each other is also fun. Maybe I'll write a story just about the three of them sometime.
> 
> I also liked giving the faculty personal lives. Something I always forget is that teachers, professors, bosses - they all have issues and personal matters, too. This chapter, I wanted to show that.
> 
> Anyways, I'm curious about your reactions to this chapter, your predictions, etc. Leave a review if you feel compelled to do so, folks! And also, I love love love reviews that get specific. What specifically did you like/dislike/love/hate/think? What is something specific that I can improve on, or what should I do more/less of? Specifics help me improve as a writer, and while I absolutely appreciate feedback of all kinds, comments about specific areas that stand out to you as the reader are the reviews that I most treasure. :D
> 
> Yours, ~Iron Woobie


	15. Cascade, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the lull following the adrenaline-fueled past few weeks, Wally finds himself deep in thought -- especially regarding his relationships. It seems that everyone seems a bit off -- his friends and himself included -- and he decides to try getting down to the bottom of things. And while the air in Central City seems quiet, the tension in the air is palpable as action continues behind-the-scenes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited on that last chapter! Especially with all the *specifics*, haha. You've shared great critiques and pointed out a lot of things that I hadn't noticed, and for that I am very grateful! :D
> 
> I bring you Chapter 15, which is Part 1 of a 3 part segment for this story. A segment of this chapter was inspired by the Young Justice comic, specifically Issue 20: "Players, Chapter One." Additionally, parts of the next few chapters will align with EPISODE 23: "INSECURITY", which begins towards the end of this chapter. This chapter is also more Wally-centric than recent chapters have been, and some… important interactions take place. Mwahahahah…. Ahem. Anyway.
> 
> I've also recently begun a series of oneshots called "Year 2000", which is a Barry-centric view of the Flash's first year as a hero. It also includes Iris, Hal, and 5-year-old Wally, and for that story I'm open to suggestions for future oneshots! If you're interested, I encourage you to check it out! :)
> 
> This chapter marks the 100K wordcount mark for this story! Thanks so much for following along this far! Hope you all enjoy! Leave a review if you feel like it! ~ Iron Woobie

**15**

**CASCADE, PART ONE**

**STAR CITY  
November 27, 2:49 CST**

For a solid thirty minutes in the wee hours of the post-Thanksgiving Saturday morning, the night was calm. Quiet. Tranquil. Not a soul wandered the streets, not a lamp was lit among the apartment complexes lining the road, not a single sound was to be heard. The shadows were still, formed from nothing more than lonely statues and sleeping trees. Not even the puddles in the pavement rippled as they reflected the peaceful glow of the moon above.

The silence shattered when an arrow shot forth from a bow, punching deep into the wall of an building and sending tiny crumbles of brick and mortar tumbling to the ground below. A zipline of taut steel cord trailed from the projectile to its weapon, which lay in the grasp of a strong, well-built figure standing atop an adjacent building.

After a pause, the archer leaped off the roof to slide down the cord above the street below. The faint  _zzzzz_  sound of the bow against the metal wire was the only indicator of life in the night.

A key opening a window lock, a step into a room, and a long-needed sigh of exhaustion later, Roy Harper found himself standing in his dark, dank, and downright depressing apartment. It seemed more like a lair than living quarters, but it was all his meager savings could afford at the moment.

"Home sweet home, huh?"

Quick on the draw and already antsy, Roy spun and fired at a spot right above his couch where the voice had originated. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the brick to fall on the couch cushion, while none other than Wally West stood two feet off to the side. The speedster crossed his arms and pursed his lips at the offending arrow before turning to look at Roy with an odd expression.

"Well, 'hi' to you, too... Bit jumpy there, Roy. You should look before you fire, you know."

Setting his bow down on the coffee table and leaning his quiver against a wall, Roy slowly shook his head. "What are you doing here, Walls?" he sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand and turning on the dim lights with the other.

"Do I need a reason to visit one of my best friends?" Wally asked, a smirk flickering across his face for a split second before disappearing. Roy started walking toward the kitchen, and Wally followed, speaking quietly for once, "Look, you weren't answering my texts, and no one's heard from you, not even Ollie. Just checking in."

"Well, I'm here," Roy replied, eyebrows raised in impatience. "Alive and well. Thanks for stopping by, kid. Go home."

Wally rolled his eyes and sat at the kitchen table. "Okay, stop, stop, stop. 'Kid,' Roy? Seriously? You're, like, two years older than me." He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes in that way Flashes do that always made Roy nervous for some reason. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

On instinct, Roy replied, "I don't know what you're-"

" _Geez_ , just cut the crap, Harper. I don't have all night." Wally was almost growling through his teeth, and Roy felt hairs go up along his spine. "You were fed up with being treated like a child. Sure. You're doing solo work and doing it  _well._ I get it. Congrats. What I  _don't_  get is why you decide to drop off the face of the earth without a trace for days, even when you get the alert that  _some_  of us have had several near-death-experiences in that time.  _You_  don't  _get_ the privilege of pleading the fifth. Not right now. So  _sit down_  and  _start talking_ , dude."

Well.

Roy felt the urge to tell Wally off for ordering him around in  _his_  apartment in the wee hours of the morning. He wanted so desperately to put this off for another day, another time, when he was in the mood.

But one glance at Wally's expression... a combination of anger, confusion, expectation, and…  _hurt?_ Shoot, that was definitely hurt.

He didn't really have a choice, did he? Better to hash this out now than later.

Pulling up the chair opposite Wally, Roy silently stared at the other ginger across the table for a solid twenty seconds, inhaling and exhaling. "Okay. I was running a mission overseas. Deep cover. Needed radio silence and required absolute isolation. Couldn't risk the chance that-"

"-That what? That people might need you to come in? That people might worry if you're still alive?"

"That people might run their  _traps_  and ruin everything!" Roy snapped, face delving into a deep scowl. " _Some_ of us aren't exactly pros at being discreet."

Wally bristled. "What's that supposed to mean- Wait. You are  _not_  still mad about that philharmonic thing." Roy's silence was a sufficient answer. "Seriously? That was almost two years ago and you're still hung up about that? Dude, grudges are for girls. Man up and  _let it go_."

"Oh, I've let it go, Wally. Doesn't mean I've forgotten." Roy stood to his feet and started brewing some coffee, realizing they were going to be here awhile. "There's a difference between simply forgiving mistakes and learning from them."

"And trusting me _…_  was a  _mistake_?" Wally's voice lowered to a harsh whisper.

"Trusting you with a crucial  _task_  was the mistake, Wally." Roy slammed the button on the coffee maker and yanked out two mugs from a cabinet. "And that wasn't the only time, either. I'm talking about the aquarium thing, the Eiffel Tower thing, the thing in the Philippines... You're a great person. Really. That's not even up for discussion. But on missions, your judgement calls? They're lacking. Really lacking. I mean,  _really_  bad, man. Especially when missions are clandestine."

"A  _missile_  almost took off your head-"

"You blew my cover-"

" _So what?!"_  Wally huffed in frustration, gesturing wildly and trying not to shout across the room, "Roy, since when did being a good spy become more important than being a good friend? We're not even freakin' spies - we're above that."

"Sure." Roy's voice was clipped as he methodically poured the coffee into the mugs.  _Two sugars for him, five sugars and cream for Wally._  "We're not spies. And because of that, there's so much more riding on this, Wally. On  _us_. On heroes. Because spies have the advantage of anonymity. We, on the other hand, are constantly on display. The public puts us on these stupid pedestals and the news and now the friggin'  _social media_. Our covers?" He set the mug in front of Wally and sat down. "They're already on thin ice, and they're all we've got. And you?"

Wally closed his eyes in realization of where this was going. "Yeah. I don't even have that anymore." He gently pressed his head down to the table, air leaving his lips in a low whistle.

"Bingo." Roy sipped his coffee and eyed Wally over his mug. "I've said it before and I'll said it again.  _You_ are the biggest security risk for heroes right now. Bigger than even this friggin' mole that's still running around out there. And not just for your little 'Team', but the League itself. You're a major liability. And... I love you, man, but I'm not an idiot. Until this crap gets sorted out - and I mean  _really sorted out_ , not just kept a secret that's bound to get spilled one way or the other - it's just not a good idea to tell you things. You know it, I know it, and I know  _Dick_  sure as hill feels the same way."

"Dick?" Wally asked faintly, tracing his fingers around the hot mug, brow furrowed with internal turmoil. "Wha- has he told you something?"

_Batman keeping secrets was no surprise. Expected, even. But Dick? Was Boy Wonder hiding something important? He did seem off lately..._

"I'm not saying anything." Roy bit his lip and set aside his mug, pressing his fingertips to the table and leaning forward. "Wally, have you at least told  _Barry_  about your little accident, like I suggested? I've already promised not to spill the beans. That's your job. And of all the people in the world, he's the one who'd be best to go to."

"No. And… I'm not going to." Wally groaned and took a long drink of the coffee, chugging the hot liquid so fast Roy was certain it was scalding the speedster's throat. "Uncle Barry is going  _insane_ , dude. I've never seen him like this. He does that… that thing where he makes it look like nothing's going wrong, but his fingers vibrate non-stop, right? You know what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah."

"But that's the thing! Everything  _is_  going wrong! The Rogues are loose, his boss is kicking his butt, and then he's already got my health issues to worry about-"

" _What?"_ Roy barked in alarm, eyes running over Wally's body in a frantic once-over for injuries.

"C'mon, Roy. That's what I was trying to tell you. Rogues cooked up some nanotech, it's like the speedsters' kryptonite, I had a full-body operation two days ago… Any of this ring a bell?" At Roy's blank expression, Wally shook his head in exasperation. "Check your email, dude. Keep up. Anyways, I'm almost recovered, but there's still this huge risk that could end both of the Flash and Kid Flash's careers - let alone our  _lives_  - and it's still got us scratching our heads on how to defend ourselves. So, tell me. Does it really make sense to pile on my _oops_  on top of all this?"

"It does if your  _'oops'_  spells the end for all of us."

"But we don't know if it'll come to that."

"But it might."

"It hasn't yet."

"It probably will. And soon."

"But it- wait. This is going nowhere." Wally dragged his hands through his hair and bowed his head to his chest in thought. "I didn't come here to pick fights, Roy. Okay? I just want to know what's going on. You've been acting strange since summer and… I miss you. Dick misses you. Kaldur misses you, too. Just…" The sixteen-year-old looked up at Roy with a look of desperation.

"Would it  _kill_ you to do a mission with _us_ sometimes?" Wally was practically pleading at this point. "I mean, I know you hate the idea of hanging out with the Team and being called a 'kid'. But… but Roy, you're like my brother. I shouldn't have to break into your (frankly shabby) apartment at two in the morning just to talk to you. You feel me?"

Roy felt Wally's words settle in the space, like sediment at the bottom of a wide lake. Something in his mind twisted, and he started to feel an internal conflict that really shouldn't have been there in the first place. He didn't understand it, but…

Regardless, Wally was right.

"I get it. I'm… I'm sorry," he breathed.

"So you'll run a mission with us sometime?" Wally raised his eyebrows, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. His normally vibrant green eyes were somewhat dimmed with exhaustion, and Roy realized it was crazy for the speedster to be up at these hours - especially if he was in recovery from what sounded like serious surgery. He shouldn't have even been out here at all, but Flashes had a tendency of ignoring dumb details like their bodily condition when they had a goal set in mind.

_Guilt-tripped again. Well-played._

"We'll see," was all Roy said. "But you need to go home."

"Yeah. Alright, I'll take that." Wally stood to his feet wearily and slid his chair in, grabbing his coat and gloves from the hook on the back wall. "Um… Oh yeah, three things. One, _again_ , check your messages. I mean  _all_  of them - phone, Skype, email, LeagueComms, everything. Two, Dick's birthday is next Wednesday. Don't forget. And three…" The ginger speedster broke out in a broad grin and a laugh. "Now, you didn't hear this from me, but… the League voted you in." And he was out the door less than a second later, a cackle echoing in the hallway.

Roy gaped, and then tried chasing after him. "Wait! Wait, what? Wally, stop! Did you just say what I think you said? Wally!  _Wally!_ Get back here, Wally!"

* * *

 **MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **November 27, 17:33 EST**

_Recognized. Flash. 04. Kid Flash. B03._

The two speedsters entered the Cave together that afternoon, evidently deep in a discussion about some recent discovery in theoretical physics.

"No, I'm just saying, the implications of Dr. Hosen's findings for string theory go beyond simple black holes, Uncle Barry. Particles and subatomic particles, applied to maybe dark matter, dark energy."

"True. But Kid, that would rely on Dr. Warner-Meyer's empirical data supporting the-"

Batman cleared his throat. "When you're both ready."

"Oh, hi Bats!" Flash greeted cheerily, his big grin mirrored by his nephew. "What's cookin'?"

"Take a seat," Batman commanded more than said, and the speedsters quickly obeyed without another word. "I analyzed the data gathered from the tests on the hypernanites. Combined with the evaluation we'll perform now, we should be able to answer a few more questions about the nanotech."

Several blue holoscreens appeared in the room, and Batman tapped one to enlarge it. "Based on the analysis performed by the Missouri State Sheriff's Office, the hypernanites were the product of an experimental project managed by engineers at S.T.A.R. Labs, titled 'G-23'. The broad purpose of the experiment was to identify and develop particles that could conduct energy, and then amplify it rather than simply react to it. They tried to use several source categories as their manipulated variable, such as voltage, currents, and radioactivity, but change in velocity turned out to be the most effective and reliable method to stabilize the hypernanites' capabilities."

Wally leaned forward, eyes scanning the holoscreen before him. "So acceleration is used for stabilization?"

"Yes. However, the nuances are the several thresholds the scientists discovered through their testing. As the host source generating the acceleration crosses a higher threshold, the hypernanites activate and multiply, and then they return to a dormant state until the next threshold is reached. When the host source's speed is reduced, the hypernanites remain dormant regardless."

"Alright… So that explains why everything hurt briefly when I broke into Mach 1 and then slowed down," Wally mused.

Batman nodded. "Your acceleration above your normal pace encouraged the nanites to return to their dormant state. Any pain you felt afterwards was a result of their presence near your nerves, rather than the friction they generated."

The Dark Knight paused and opened an intricate line graph covered in labels. "This shows how your acceleration affected the hypernanites in your system. As you can see here," he gestured to the highest point on the graph, "there is a top threshold after which the nanites no longer go dormant. On the one hand, this means that they are vibrating at extremely dangerous levels that would destroy the host system almost instantaneously. But on the other hand, this also means that a speedster would be vibrating fast enough to lose the adhesion between their molecules, so theoretically, the hypernanites would be released from the host source of the velocity, fall off, and once separated, would revert to the basal state of zero velocity. Harmless."

Wally said nothing, brow furrowed as he digested everything. The Flash crossed his arms, leaning back. "So, basically, if we broke the highest speed threshold while vibrating through a solid object, the hypernanites would be neutralized?"

"The problem is," Wally mumbled, mouth quirked to the side. "I'm actually not fast enough to break that threshold. I run just above the speed of sound. When I try passing through an object… I just end up with a bloody nose."

The Flash placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "We can work on that, Kid. Soon. Especially if the Rogues plan to unleash the full force of their attack sometime in the next month, which I'd bet money is the case."

"That would be a wise approach," Batman agreed, minimizing a few of the holoscreens and leaving only one. "In other news, Kid Flash, it looks like your body is recovering according to schedule. The areas most affected by long-term exposure to the hypernanites - the origin site of your upper arm and shoulder - might take a few more days to fully heal, but you're cleared for missions again at this point."

"Yes!" Wally exclaimed in relief.

But his mentor's smile was tight and his tone was curt. "Sure. You've been so patient these past three days, following my directions,  _not going on patrol_. You definitely deserve to get back in rotation right away, Kid."

Wally winced. "You haven't, by any chance… been watching the news lately, have you, Flash?"

"Oh, no, not at all!" the Flash replied sarcastically. "It's not like I'm  _married_  to the city's lead newscaster or anything. Why would I know about Kid Flash  _taking on a gang of twenty-five_ on Thanksgiving Day? That would be preposterous!" He narrowed his eyes at his nephew, who shrunk in embarrassment.

"Hehe, didn't think about that..." Wally laughed nervously.

"It's not funny, Kid. Anyways," the Flash sighed, "thanks for briefing us, Bats. I'll talk to you later." As he and his partner headed for the Zeta tube, Flash smacked Wally upside the head. "How stupid do you think I am, Kid? Honestly!"

"I dunno, I thought it was pretty epic."

"Epic my…"

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 29, 09:01 CST**

The bell rang at the start of the next Monday morning, and Wally felt  _wired_.

Sitting upright in his seat for once - and in English class, no less - Wally couldn't stop his eyes from darting around the room in suspicion. Nor could he block out the pounding in his ears, or the feeling that several massive and inevitably painful threats were collectively hanging over his head like an anvil.

But life seemed to be going on as usual for the rest of the world. He was wasting adrenaline - and therefore calories - for no real reason.

And that was the frustrating part of this double life. Sometimes, it seemed like you'd survived the apocalypse over the course of a few hours, and other times, you went weeks, even months, of relative calm. This 'breather period' was much-needed, but nevertheless, Wally felt restless. The sensation of an incoming disaster plagued every hour of this so-called _peace_.

Was this sense of foreboding just… paranoia? Leftover effects from the final dose of morphine that morning? Or something more?

You could never be sure.

Looking for ways to manage his hyperactive mental state, Wally looked over at Hartley to his left. " _Psst._  How was your Thanksgiving?"

Hartley said nothing. Didn't even turn his head to acknowledge him. Wally frowned and tried again. "Hey. Hey, Hart. How was your break?"

"Shut up." Hartley didn't look up from his notebook, writing something in the margins as Ms. Small droned on about some Shakspeare whatsit.

Stunned - and somewhat hurt - Wally pressed his tongue against his cheek in thought. "You okay, dude?"

_I mean, my Thanksgiving wasn't exactly ideal, but I still had some fun. What were you up to?_

"I said, shut  _up_."

"Okay," Wally whispered, growing increasingly worried. Hartley had been really tense these past couple of weeks. The normally laid-back flutist looked pale, his breathing was faster than normal, his eyes were constantly bloodshot, and he'd been pretty tight-lipped about his thoughts.  _Was he sick or something?_  "Hey. Thumbs up or thumbs down. Just give me that. Hartley.  _Hart-"_

Hartley proceeded to instantly and forcefully throw his fist into Wally's face. And the punch was freaking  _audible_.

"Ow! Dude! What the  _heck_?!"

"Mr. West and Mr. Rathaway, I will see you after class." Ms. Small crossed her arms and glared at the two sophomores.

But Wally had trouble caring about the consequences right now. For the rest of class, he couldn't keep his eyes off of Hartley's weird expression - mouth pinched shut, nose wrinkled in a strange grimace, eyebrows drawn together, and his blue eyes wide open. Wally couldn't be sure if his friend was about to snap, cry, or laugh. He was unreadable.

And frankly… intimidating.

The bell rang, Ms. Small told them off for disrupting class but seemed to be in a good mood, and they made it out of the classroom without earning detention.  _Small miracles. Besides, I have bigger fish to fry._

In the hallway, Wally grabbed Hartley's arm and pulled him back before the taller teen tried to skip out. "Whoa. Dude. What was  _that_?" he asked, dragging Hartley off to an alcove behind a set of lockers.

"Let me go, Wally," Hartley growled.

"Not happening." Why did Wally always have to confront his friends to get answers lately? "Did I do something to tick you off? Tell me so we can get over… whatever this is, man."

"You've done nothing. Absolutely nothing," Hartley snapped, taking a step forward and using his height to tower slightly over Wally.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay. Cool. Then why did you  _sock me in the face_  an hour ago?!"

"You wouldn't shut up. You were asking for it."

"Are you kidding? I  _asked_  how your holiday went and you decided to  _punch me in the face_. Note the punching. Do not forget the punching."

"I'm sorry for the punching."

"You know what? I don't even  _care_  about the punching, Hart!" Wally threw his hands up. "I just wanted to know how your Thanksgiving went. If it was bad, just leave it at that and I'll leave you alone. But I won't if I think something even worse is wrong with you!" He poked a finger in Hartley's chest that made the other redhead stumble backwards against the wall. "And there is definitely something wrong with you. Got the flu or something?"

" _No."_

"Stressing about finals?"

"It's not even December. I'm not that anal."

"Then what is it?"  _Geez, it's like pulling teeth with these gingers, I swear_.

"It's… it's… it's just… Ugh-" And Hartley then proceeded to release a string of curse words that both terrified and impressed Wally. After about ten seconds of the random display of anger, Hartley inhaled deeply and gave Wally one of the worst looks of hatred he'd ever received - and that included the criminals he'd personally locked up in prison. There was nothing but pure loathing in Hartley's voice when he said, "You might screw everything up. You could do it without even knowing, because you're  _you_. And I'm me."

"What are you getting at?" Wally asked, very confused and very nervous. He'd shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that his fingers were vibrating - that same thing Uncle Barry did. "You're not making any sense. We are… us. So what?"

"So this can't work."

"What do you mean, 'work'? Am I missing something?"

Hartley muttered under his breath, "Only the obvious." He rolled his jaw impatiently and got in Wally's face, his voice lowering deeper and deeper, approaching something that made Wally's stomach churn and made him lean away.  _It sounded familiar, though never from Hartley. Where had he heard that voice?_

Practically spitting, Hartley stated, "I want you to stay far away from me. Your existence is currently ruining my life, and if you give two craps about you and me, you'll stop trying to get involved in things that are none of your freakin' business. Capiche?"

Wally was cornered against the wall behind him, mouth gaping in full-blown shock and incredulity. "Wha- Hartley, are you on  _crack_? Are you high? Who are you and what have you done with my friend? Actually, you know what?" Wally pushed himself off the wall and took a deep breath, placing a hand on the taller boy's shoulder.

"I am  _sorry_. I'm sorry for… whatever it is you think I've done. Or whatever it is I'm doing to 'ruin your life.' I'm sorry. But you're my  _friend_. And now I am way too freaked out about you to just leave you alone when you're… clearly not in a good place. Maybe... you should see the counselor? Or a psychiatrist, perhaps? They could probably help you." He made an effort to smile, squeezing Hartley's shoulder in ways that were supposed to be comforting. Soothing. He tried to be an Uncle Barry.

He failed.

Hartley's dark blue eyes flashed with an expression of absolute terror, and then he finally snapped.

Grabbed Wally's shirt and threw him on the tiled floor of the hallway  _hard_.

Kicked him in the gut.

Growled, "Piss off."

And vanished, walking in the opposite direction of his next class.

Wally lay there on the ground in a daze, hurting inside and out. His mind was whirling, and his heart felt flattened like the rest of his body. Completely blindsided by this unexpected display of fury.

Hartley, one of his good friends, was now a completely different person.

He was just physically bullied by 'Mr. Chill Pill' himself,  _Hartley Rathaway_ , of all people.

That just happened.

" _What. The. -"_

 _Briiiiiing_.

And just like that, Wally was late for second period.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **November 30, 18:17 CST**

"You sure you're okay, Kid? You've been quiet all evening," Barry asked Wally over the comms, frowning at the radio silence that was usually filled with his nephew's excited running narratives and well-timed one-liners.

"Y-yeah, Flash. Just a lot of... weirdness." Barry could hear him sigh and hmmmed to himself.  _Time for traffic patrol_.

It was one of the nights in their rotation where they split up to cover two halves of the city. Divide-and-conquer was a good strategy on nights when there was expected to be a lot of cars on the road and people on the streets. The Flash and Kid Flash traveled far apart rather than in tandem, though they stayed in contact with their closed-frequency comms units that passed signals through the lightning-shaped transmitters/receivers on their earpieces. (They were more than just for snazzy looks, after all.)

As he sped up to the side of the overpass and entered the designated Flash Lane on the left side of the road, he offered, "You know, you can tell me anything, right? You sound like a guy carrying a big weight on his shoulders and a long way to walk." Barry grunted as he vaulted over a van to snatch a stray motorcyclist from crashing headfirst into a stopped semi. "Simple physics, Kid. Your energy is better spent if you share the burden."

"Well, everything's fi-" Wally cut off and didn't say anything for a minute, and then there was a brief interchange between the teen and what sounded like a couple of car thieves. The sound of a scuffle filled the air, and then Wally finally reluctantly replied. "Okay, not exactly 'fine.' Flash… I'm a bad liar, so I won't try. But… b-but I also exactly can't tell you everything. I mean, I… I just…"

"Take your time, Kid. We've got all night."

"I mean… you see...  _Hey, back away from her._  Yes, you. Yes, I  _am_ actually talking to you. Put the gun down. Hey, what did I  _just_  say? You- Okay, now he totally should have seen that coming. Cops will be here in three minutes. Ma'am, would you be willing to wait here with Mr. Unconscious to give the officer your statement?. Great, have a nice night." Wally cleared his throat. "Bullets. Slow and useless, but they never learn, do they? Uh, where was I?"

"You tell me, Kid."

"Um… okay, so the thing is, I'm apparently terrible and everyone hates me. I'm losing my friends, I'm losing my mojo, and I think I'm even losing my beautiful hair. I'm a balding, pathetic loser. Go."

Barry chuckled in alarm, " _Whoa_  there, Kiddo. I'd start off by saying that you're being a tad bit melodramatic. Things are definitely not that bad, I guarantee it."

Wally grumbled. "Seems like it."

"That's normal. You'll look back at this ten years from now and laugh at how you're feeling right now. It just takes a little bit of perspective, trust me." Barry saluted the construction worker he'd just caught from some scaffolding before continuing. "Now, you're not losing your hair. I can tell you that for a fact. Our metabolism keeps our cells in top condition, so you'll keep your lovely locks long into your old age. Just like good ol' Jay. Alright?"

"Oh. Well, that's a relief."

Barry grinned. "Sure! Now, as for your mojo, I'd say you've still got it, hot stuff. Specifics, though. You talking about your jaw-dropping heroism or your irresistible womanizing?" he joked.

"Frankly, both. On the heroic front, I'm not exactly at one-hundred-percent as far as my speed goes these days, and that almost killed a kid last week. Though that could have just been the nanotech infestation. And as for the ladies… M'gann chose Conner, and Dick totally has dibs on Zatanna. No hard feelings towards anyone, of course, but then there's...  _Artemis_."

"And? You like her?"

"Million dollar question, Flash."

"Friend-zoned?" Barry asked sympathetically.

"Honestly, sometimes, I don't even know if we're  _friends_  that would make the friend-zone a possibility. It's so hard to read her. I don't know if she's fighting, or flirting, or what!"

Barry laughed. "Well, from what I've seen, Kid? She definitely cares."

"'Cares?' I came out of surgery and her first words were 'Well, crap, you're alive. I was getting my hopes up that you'd kicked the bucket.' I just woke up from a medically-induced coma! Who says stuff like that?!"

"Classic," Barry snickered. "I-I mean,  _ouch_. Well, never try to understand the female mind. When you were out cold, she kept checking on you, making sure your vitals were okay... Artemis seems like an 'actions speak louder than words' kind of person. I'd say there's something there, Kid."

"She has an insane way of showing it, then."

Barry zipped sideways and snatched up a brown bag from the Flash Food Initiative, chugging a can of Sprite before tossing it in a recycling bin. "Kid, I will bet you twenty authentic American dollars that Artemis would go on a date with you by New Year's."

" _Pffff._  You're on."

"Okay, then!" Polishing off a salami sandwich, Barry veered right to start a perimeter check on the industrial region. "Now, about your friends. Wanna share a few details there?"

"Oh. Yeah. Well, I bugged Roy on Saturday to see what's eating him, and he basically told me that he and Dick think I'm a blabbermouth who can't be trusted to keep quiet when it counts. That's totally off base, right?" Barry raised his eyebrows and said nothing. "Well, it's up for debate, at least! But more importantly, my one friend in school flipped his lid today and basically beat me up in the hallway for no good reason."

"Okay, stop. Someone was bullying you?" Barry felt that protective edge creep into his voice. "Do I need to have a meeting with someone, Kid?"

"No! No way! I'm not a weenie, Flash." Wally paused. "We were talking, and then we were arguing, and then he was  _threatening_ me, and then I… well, I might have been a little too pushy. And then he just… snapped. I'm… still having trouble believing what happened."

"Do I know this kid? Where does he live?"

"No, and nevermind. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm kidding. In all seriousness, was this out of character for him?"

"Oh, very. He's like this calm, red-headed hipster who never gets upset, let alone angry. Picture an Owen Wilson type of guy. He plays the  _flute_ , for crying out loud."

"A teenaged, ginger, hipster, flute-playing Owen Wilson hulking out in the hallway? Hmm."

"... 'Hmm'? That's it? I was hoping you'd have some sage, divine adult wisdom to grant me."

"Well, I'm stumped, Kid. I've never met this boy, and I don't even know who you're talking about. Do you think he maybe needs some professional help?"

"I suggested he get counseling, and that's what pushed him off the edge."

"Yeesh, Kid... I'll have to think about that. In the meantime, focus on patrol. We'll regroup back at the house later."

"... Fine. Copy that. KF out."

With the radio silence resuming in his ears, Barry sighed and stopped for a second on top of a skyscraper, looking out at his city. He thought back at his own form of 'drama' in his teen years and laughed dryly to himself. And he'd thought  _his_  high school years were complicated. He tried imagining what it was like for his nephew who had a whole other part-time job that involved so much of his daily life. It was remarkable how well the kid was handling it, to be truly honest.

But Barry also thought about the state of Central City. There was a strange chill that brushed through the alleyways and along the roads, and not just because of the thick blankets of snow falling each week.

Winter was here in full force, and that usually correlated with an uptick in criminal activity. This time of year, the less-honest citizens of Central City got wise and realized that the approach of Christmas, Kwanzaa and Hanukkah meant more lucrative rewards for robbing houses, cars, and pedestrians. There were also supposed to be more fires from turkey feasts gone awry and heaters ironically overheating.

Above all, winter's arrival typically mirrored the arrival of the Rogues' big year-end effort to 'take care' of the speedsters. Doomsday devices, traps, bait-and-hook, monologues… It was getting to be a comforting holiday tradition. But this year?

Things were unnervingly quiet. Barry's weekly trips down to the Rogues' Bar left him standing alone in an abandoned room, where the tables were bare and the taps were empty. The usual suspects were vanishing one after the other. The people affiliated with the mob were leaving town, too. It was as if the entire underground network of Central City was making a mass exodus, marching to the beat of an unseen drum.

It reminded Barry of those nature documentaries about earthquakes and forest fires, how all the animals of an area had a sense that a natural disaster was about to take place and acted on that instinct.

If the behavior of the crime community was anything like the instincts of those animals, then Central City - and the Flash and Kid Flash, for that matter - could be in for something completely  _catastrophic_.

At least, that was Barry's hunch.

* * *

 **MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 1, 16:02 EST**

There was only one reason Wally had decided to bolt straight to the Cave as soon as the school bell rang on a Wednesday. Well, several reasons actually, the first being the abundance of snacks - but they were all related reasons, at least.

Wally spotted reason number two and grinned to himself, shoving a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth and making his way from the Cave's kitchen to the common room.

_Ah, there she is. A wild Zatanna. Relaxed and resting in her natural habitat. Behold the focus as the female predator is at ease, devouring her prey of English literature._

"Hey there, Z. Sup?" he greeted her casually.

"Not much, Wally, not much. Just, you know,  _reading_." The young (so-called) magician was reclined on the couch, and she sat up to look at Wally pointedly with a smirk. "Actually, you should try it sometime. Might  _expand your horizons_."

"Har har." He tossed his yogurt cup across the room to hit the recycling bin with well-practiced aim. "Still trying to get me to believe in magic? It's pointless. I'm more interested in _how_  you do what you do, to be honest. Could help us both find a scientific explanation, like I've been saying. And then I'd be right. Which, I am!"

"Whatever, Wally," Zatanna rolled her eyes with a long-suffering smile and a sigh, returning her gaze to her novel. "You do you."

The scientific speedster and the "mystical" magician could have been at odds given their… conflicts in beliefs. But their relationship had actually turned out to be pretty interesting, as they enjoyed spending long hours alone debating the nature of the universe, the influence of quantum mechanics and bioscripting on the manipulation of energy and matter, and even the pros and cons of Zeta-tube technology on the space-time continuum. Wally and Zatanna's conversations were playful, challenging, and founded on intellectual depth, and their differences of opinion regarding magic and the mystic-arts actually strengthened their friendship, to the Team's surprise.

Wally stretched and glanced at the cover of the book. "Ah,  _Moby Dick_. Fisherman. Big whale. Nice." He smirked and sat on the arm of the couch, spooning out more of the yogurt. "Y'know, speaking of Dick, I wanted to-"

"Uh, Wally?" Zatanna warned, and Wally realized that he had made several major verbal errors in that last sentence.

_Shoot! Almost gave away Dick's secret identity. And… that other thing._

Gotta salvage this. "Uh, what did I say? Did I say…  _Oh!_  Whoops, hehe. I meant to say... _Dickinson_. D-Dickinson? Emily Dickinson? She wrote  _Moby Dick_ , right?"

"Wrong." Zatanna raised an eyebrow.

"Goshdarnit, that's Herman Melville.  _Right_. My bad."

"Talk about Freudian slips, Kid Suave." Zatanna's wary glance lingered on Wally's red face. "You sure you're okay? You've been acting really weird the past few weeks. I mean, weirder than normal."

"A-Am I? Huh." Wally awkwardly scratched his head for a moment, biting his lip and shrinking from the magician's intuitive stare. Zatanna was one of the sharpest members of the Team - and she had a tendency of hitting a little too close to home when given the chance to dig.

 _Better cut to the chase._  "Look, I'll get out of your hair. I just wanted to drop a hint that it's Robin's birthday, and… I know he'd appreciate a little special some _thing_  from a certain special some _one_ , if you know what I mean," he mumbled slyly with a grin and a wink.

She looked up from her book and cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. "Well, look at you, Mr. Wingman. What's the catch?"

"The catch?"

Zatanna crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You and Robin are two of the wildest pranksters I've ever experienced. Hardly anything you say or do is random. So… what's the catch?"

Wally laughed and shook his head, standing up. "Let's just say, I want to make my best friend's big day as awesome as possible. And you, my wonderfully-deluded-wonder-girl companion, make an  _excellent_  opening act. Catch ya later!"

As he zoomed off down the hallway, Zatanna was left chuckling and mumbling to herself, "Oh boy. Alright. I'll play along."

While waiting for Dick to show up at the Cave, Wally sat on the bed in his room and spun into his suit. There weren't any missions planned for Kid Flash that afternoon - at least, nothing 'official.' Which was perfect, since he had  _other_ plans today… He pulled open his gauntlet computer and entered some coordinates through the Cave's technical system, sending the instructions to the Zeta-tube.

There, all set.

_Recognized. Robin. B01._

And showtime.

"Hey, Boy Wonder!" Zatanna called out, right on cue. With a welcoming smile, she stood from her position on the sofa to approach the newly-arrived Robin.

And suddenly kissed him on the cheek.

"Happy Birthday!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and trying not to laugh at the flustered expression on Robin's face.

"Uh… Thanks!" Robin replied, rubbing his neck bashfully before halting in confusion. "Hold on. How'd she even know it's my birthday?"

Wally walked in grinning and clapped a hand on Robin's shoulder. "Dude, you're welcome."

"Well, I guess my work here is done," said Zatanna, returning to the couch to grab her book and head to her room.

"Wally, what's all this?" Robin asked as the ginger excitedly handed him a gift-wrapped box and a card.

"These are from Roy! And this," Wally stated while firmly grabbing Robin by the shoulder with a coy smirk, "is from me."

"Wait, what?! Waaaalllyyyyy-"

Robin's shout trailed off as he was instantly thrown over the shoulders of Kid Flash and subjected to involuntary piggy-backed superspeed out of Mount Justice. Wally grinned as he sprinted away. Genius.

Zatanna broke out into laughter as the Zeta-tube heralded their departure and sucked the two boys away into oblivion. "Geez. Never a dull moment with you two."

**HONOLULU  
December 1, 11:18 HAST**

"Pro of being a speedster: being able to turn any afternoon into a beach vacation!" Wally deposited Robin unceremoniously on the ground, spreading his arms wide in a gesture to the appealing resort-like surroundings. "Five hour time zone difference between the warm sandy shores of Hawaii and gloomy Gotham, three normal hours to kill before your birthday party with your civvie-friends starts, and a private beach, just for you and me!"

Dick was speechless, and Wally's arms lowered a bit. "How'd I do?"

"You… certainly have a flair for the unexpected, Wally," the Boy Wonder replied, gaping at the amount of effort Wally had poured into this. "Isn't this a bit… overkill?"

Wally snorted. "Please. Nothing's overkill when it comes to birthdays, Dick. You threw a surprise party for me last month and even got  _Batman_  to come. Plus, since I'm not even invited to your real birthday party -"

"A Central City teenager randomly going to Richard Grayson's birthday party?  _With_  Artemis there, who doesn't even know I'm Robin? Raises too many questions."

"- I figure we should at least have a chance to celebrate now!" Wally zipped away momentarily, returning to hold out a big birthday cake - vanilla, since Dick was a stick in the mud and didn't like chocolate. "Make a wish!"

"Gosh, you're such a dork." Dick slowly broke into a smile and his trademark Robin-laugh, and then blew out the candles. "Happy?"

Wally cocked his head and paused, then lunged forward with lightning speed. "Pinch to grow an inch! 'Cause you, my friend, frankly need a lot more," he laughed.

"Ow! Rude."

"Now, take off your mask - you'll get friggin' weird tan lines otherwise, and people will ask questions." Wally zipped away and appeared with a couple of reclining chairs and ice-cold lemonades beneath a Batman-themed canopy. "And of course, tiny umbrellas!" he exclaimed, plopping a pair of dainty, blue-and-green paper parasols into the drinks and handing one to Dick.

As they settled down on the chairs, Dick marveled, "Wow, you've put a lot of thought into this."

"Surprising?"

"You're typically more of a spur-of-the-moment type of planner. And then things blow up spectacularly in your face. It's fun to watch."

"Yeah, well. I'm improving, as you can see," Wally said proudly. "Putting the 'pro' in 'proactive'. So." He took a slow sip of his lemonade before asking casually, "How's life?"

Dick laughed, confused. "What do you mean? We see each other almost every day and text or call when we don't. You  _know_  my life."

Wally sighed and crossed his legs, leaning on his knees in thought. "Sure, I know the stupid stuff. What you eat for lunch, what's the latest on TV, what happened on patrol with Bats last night. And that's cool and all. But I'm more interested in… in the more important stuff, y'know?" He looked over at Dick, raising his eyebrows with hope. "Seriously.  _How's life?_ "

"It's… it's fine," his friend replied hesitantly, running a hand through his hair and looking down into his lemonade. "It's complicated, like always, but it's…. fine, I mean..."

They didn't have too many of these 'deeper' talks these days. It seemed like they were always too busy, or too stressed to want to worry about the darker stuff when they had downtime. There wasn't a wall between them, per se, but it wasn't exactly an open channel of communication all the time. And anyways, Wally was always the more talkative one of the two of them - the speedster was pretty much an open book as far as feelings and other gushy stuff like that - whereas Dick was more reticent. His tendency was to hold back until releasing information was deemed necessary. It wasn't  _secrecy_ , though.

Was it?

"Secrecy," Wally muttered quietly, as if reading Dick's mind. "Always secrets with you, dude."

Something about that made Dick shudder and sit up straighter, feeling himself start to get defensive. "I don't keep secrets. Not from you. I told you my secret identity, didn't I? My name, my background, my heritage - heck, you only know my freakin'  _birthday_  because I told you!"

"And how long did it take for me to learn your eye color? Your favorite food? Your hopes? Fears? Insecurities? You're my absolute best friend, and you know everything about  _me_. But sometimes I feel like I'm still only treading the surface with  _you_ , Dick." Wally's eyes had a peculiar emotion in them. Earnest green, like always, and more on the concerned side of the frustrated spectrum. Not quite angry, but… uncomfortable.

Did Wally feel betrayed, for some reason?

Looking out at the blue waves crashing on the beach twenty feet away, Dick asked slowly, carefully, "What exactly do you need me to tell you?"

The ginger said nothing for a minute, looking disappointedly at the horizon. After a pause, he responded, "I don't really  _need_  you to tell me anything, man. I just… Maybe it's best if I explain something first."

Wally twirled his tiny umbrella in his fingers, visibly phrasing his thoughts, and Dick waited with anticipation. He was aware that it wasn't often that speedsters sought out serious conversations like this. People often dismissed Flashes as 'shallow' and 'clownish' because they preferred levity over the more heavy stuff. Light-hearted spirits make for faster bodies, you could say. But that didn't mean the speedsters weren't deep thinkers. Quite the opposite in fact.

Dick had learned long ago that because they had all the time in the world at their fingertips, speedsters had plenty of opportunity to  _think_. Philosophize. Compare and contrast. Reflect. And as a result, they were some of the most self-aware and considerate people you would ever meet. Another one of their charms.

And this was one of the few moments when their introspective nature came to light. Dick felt privileged to witness it firsthand this afternoon.

"The thing is, Dick, I don't have a lot of friends," Wally admitted. "The Team? You guys are basically it. There's one other guy from my school that I hang out with, but I'm not exactly sure where we stand at the moment. I mean, there's a reason why my birthday was spent at Mount Justice with fellow heroes and not at a party with civilians like yours. Making friends is… not easy for me - pretty friggin' hard, to be honest - and I feel lucky enough to have the Team and Uncle Barry.

"And because I have a select few friends, I… I guess I'm like Uncle Barry where… I'm protective. This is sappy, but I don't know how else to put it…" Wally spoke in halting phrases, fingers drumming on the chair while his eyes stared straight ahead at the ocean. "Friends are... precious to me. Way more important, more  _valuable_ , than money. So, I can't help but want to keep tabs on the few friends I've got. I want to... I need to make sure they're safe. Healthy. Happy. All that good stuff. Does that make sense so far?"

"Sure," Dick uttered softly, leaning back in his chair and looking out at the ocean as well.

"I like to be in the know, because I rely on my friends, and I  _hope_  that they can rely on me, too. I share everything, and I  _hope_  that my friends can share back. I hate being a leech. And for my best friends? For you, and for Roy?" Wally looked over at Dick with one of the most solemn expressions he'd ever seen on the redhead. "All of that goes  _double_."

Wally drained his lemonade before commenting, "Lately… lately, it feels like I'm the last to know things. Like I'm not in the loop, like I'm an afterthought. For instance, I stalked Roy on Saturday and found out that he dropped out of touch last week because he was undercover. Did you know about that?"

Dick shrugged. "Nah, but I figured he was working a mission. He texted me a couple weeks ago that something was on his radar."

"Ah." Wally struggled to keep his apparent anger in check, his grip on his glass tightening. "See, I didn't get any texts to begin with. And Hartley - that guy you met at the Gala a couple weekends back - resorted to literally kicking me in the gut before he'd even say 'hi.' It's stuff like that, not being in the know, being shoved away, that makes me… worried? Well, worried and… Gee, I'm so not good at this stuff." He bit his lip. "I don't feel... trusted."

"Please. You're trusted, dude," Dick sighed, crossing his arms and bowing his head towards his chest. "I trust you."

"Do you?" Wally's tone of voice made the Boy Wonder pause and glance over at him. "Do you trust me?"

"... Is that a trick question?"

Wally blinked. "Roy said that you would agree that," he frowned slightly, "that it's not a good idea to tell me things. Because of my exposure. I mean, I totally get it if that's true, so be honest… is it?"

"It… might be." Dick chewed on some ice, feeling like he was under a microscope. A mouse cornered next to a mousetrap. One false step and…  _pain_. "But that doesn't at all mean I don't trust you, Wally."

Wally closed his eyes, mentally regrouping. "I'm only asking about things like 'trust' and 'secrecy' because I can tell something major is bothering you, and you haven't told anyone. Whatever it is, it started sometime right before the Qurac mission, and you're hiding it. Now, I'm not a Bat. I don't investigate, and I don't dig. What I  _am_  is the guy who will pick you up and surprise you with a private birthday beach and some hours alone for no other reason than to hopefully make you feel comfortable enough to talk to me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't  _need_ you to tell me anything, Dick. I just need you to feel like you can trust me. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you just saying 'okay' to shut me up, or do you mean it?"

"Gee, a little bit of both, to be honest, Walls. I've got nothing to share. But I mean, if I feel like I want to spill my guts, rest assured. You'll be the first one I call. Promise."

Dick stared at Wally for a long moment, wondering what had gotten into his best friend's head all of a sudden that made him appear so  _sad_  and  _defeated_. The stress of the hypernanites and the subsequent surgery, the exposure hanging somewhere in the atmosphere, and the end of the semester were probably making the teenaged speedster's metabolism work overtime. As much as Wally - and Barry, for that matter - tended to worry themselves sick about the welfare of their friends and their city, it sometimes became obvious that they were driving themselves into the ground in the process. Everyone knew about the speedsters' self-destructive impulses and the potential dangers that could result.

Speedsters were figurative and literal loose canons.

"Hey," he finally declared.

"What?" Wally said, not meeting Dick's face as his fingers idly ripped up the paper umbrella in his hands.

Dick suddenly dumped his ice-cold lemonade all over Wally's head, making him yelp. "Dude!"

Laughing  _hard_  at the outraged expression on Wally's face, Dick jumped out of his chair and started sprinting toward the shore. "Better go wash that off in the ocean, Kid Doofus!"

"Jerk! Race you there, Boy Blunder!"

While Dick splashed and let loose in the water with his best friend, he felt something like a stone sink to the pit of his stomach. This had been the perfect opportunity to release the massive concerns he'd accumulated regarding Haley's Circus, and to  _Wally_  of all people, who knew him - knew his  _past_  - better than even Bruce and could probably help him work things out. A perfect opportunity, and he was repeatedly, continuously, passing it up as every second ticked by.

Minutes faded into hours, and it was eventually time to piggy-back ride the speedster to the nearest Zeta-tube and beam over to his home city. He had Gotham Academy guests to entertain, after all.

Meanwhile, Wally would have to get over being out of the loop - at least for the next three weeks or so. Dick could see where Wally was coming from, and it made sense why the ginger speedster thrived off of the trust of his friends and peers.

But Dick also knew better. Wally was forgetting that trust wasn't just a right in their friendship. It was also a responsibility. In a perfect world, the Dark Knight's protégé would be just as much of an open book as Kid Flash had been. There would be no need for secrets, or subterfuge, or secret identities for that matter.

Yet, this wasn't a perfect world. Far from it. And Wally had recently dug himself a hole so deep that it would be far too much to ask the flighty speedster to handle Dick's problems on top of his own. Particularly when the day came where Wally's secret-identity-crap hit the fan.

And especially when Dick was one-hundred-percent certain that day was coming... very soon.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 2, 11:33 CST**

In kindergarten, exciting news spread like wildfire. It didn't take long for a boy in classroom 1-A to get a message to a girl in classroom 2-D, and everyone in between got in on the message, too. Communication functioned like a day-long game of telephone where a cool phrase was passed along to over four dozen children under the age of seven. Kindergarteners redefined the term "social networking."

And Kacey Donner, age five, was one of the queens of the network. She alone wielded the frightening power to command the forces of her peers in a revolt against naptime, a hunger strike in favor of better snacks, and a war against the first graders for first dibs on the best toys.

She was loved and feared by students of all the grades, and this made her influence greater than even those of the teachers. Everyone knew she could rule the elementary school if she pleased, and that made her word law.

So when her message _"I know who Kid Flash is"_ began with a whisper in her best friend Michelle's ear at eight in the morning, Kacey knew she was guaranteed to have the entire grade's attention by noon. As the children stormed the schoolyard for lunch, she reclined regally in her seat on the swing set, and every kid lined up for her to mutter conspiratorially in their ears.

"He's a big kid at my daddy's school."

"My daddy is Kid Flash's principal."

"He really does have hair that red. Oh yeah. It's natural."

"His eyes are green like a grasshopper."

"He has freckles, just like me."

"He's big and strong and runs real fast."

"I won't say his name."

"My daddy told me not to say his name."

"Nuh-uh. Not sayin'."

"But my daddy said I'm gonna get to meet him."

"Yeah. I'm gonna meet Kid Flash."

"Are you jealous?"

"You want to meet him, too?"

"I don't know. This is a pretty big secret."

"Well, maybe you can come meet him, too."

"Yeah, I guess one more won't hurt."

"Sure, the whole class can come!"

"My daddy is the coolest, isn't he?"

"I'm sure we can swing that."

"I bet he'll give you an autograph!"

"No, Kid Flash is gonna be  _my_  boyfriend."

"He's mine. I have dibs."

"I bet we can all meet him real soon!"

And just like that, word traveled through the grapevine that every single kindergartner at Dubuc Elementary was going to meet Kid Flash in the flesh. Kacey smiled triumphantly as the schoolyard plunged into an excited uproar.

It was a good day.

* * *

 **DENVER  
** **December 2, 16:24 MST**

"All set," Barry called over the comms. "Get in position, Kid. I'll clock you."

"Roger. Let's break some Machs!" Wally declared, rubbing the blood away from his nose and straightening his goggles with determination.

"Now, remember! Whatever you do, don't decelerate. You have to max out your speed and keep it there once you make contact. Otherwise, you won't make it all the way through. Got it?"

"Got it. Heading to the start!"

Wally took about a mile's length for the runway, put his head down, inhaled deeply, and burst forward in a flurry of speed. Ten steps in, and then sonic  _boom_. Broken sound barrier.

It was exhilarating, reaching Mach 1. Few people could come anywhere close to this - there was Jay Garrick, Barry, and Wally, of course. The Green Lanterns - Hal and John and Guy - had some theoretical potential as their rings worked at 'light-speed', though it was different in space without the air resistance or friction to slow you down. Superman could do it. And then that one normal human sky-diver - Felix Baumgartner - had managed to hit those speeds when he parachuted out of a capsule carried by a helium balloon.

That had only happened last month, actually, and Wally had been present at the landing as Kid Flash to shake the guy's hand.

But on foot? That sensation of pressing against a wall, hard as glass and yet with just enough give to beg your body to break it? The feeling of increasing your speed, your body becoming a bullet piercing through that wall, forcing it to bend and curve around your path? That moment when the  _crack_  exploded in your eardrums, yet you were moving faster than sound, so the boom only remained in your trail?

It was  _addicting_.

And now it was time to up the ante. Mach 2, then 3, then 4, and then the Threshold, Mach 5. A whopping 1701.5 meters per second. Wally had trouble even conceptualizing moving that fast, let alone achieving it.

But one step at a time. First, he had to claim the feat of vibrating through a solid object. And since he was still relatively new to his speedster ways, he and Barry theorized that the only way to get any part of his body through the compact molecules of a solid was to get his _whole body_  through something solitary. Like a wall. A cement wall, to be specific, since brick was too porous to be used for an accurate test. He and Uncle Barry made a run out to Denver to their usual training ground, which was hidden in a mountain valley, and the test site was set up with snow scraped away from the runway to minimize ground friction. Wally was going to break that Threshold, even if it killed him.

… Hopefully it wouldn't actually come to that.

And now he was three mental seconds (a fraction of a real-life second) away from meeting that wall at full speed, head-first.  _Okay, Wall-man. You can do this. You can do this. Youcandothisyoucandothisyoucando-_

_**WHAM.** _

Wally woke up about a couple hours later with a killer migraine, a broken nose, a very bruised forehead, and a list of painful regrets.

_Concussion number eighty. New record._

"Flash? Am I in the hospital?" Wally mumbled, sounded muffled from his crushed sinuses. He squinted, trying to straighten out this quadruple-vision and make some sense of his surroundings.

Barry jumped at his nephew's sudden words, and then relaxed a bit. "Yeah, Kid. You banged your noggin pretty hard. Doc says you might need a couple weeks to completely repair the damage."

"So, basically tomorrow?" Wally groaned, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"Right," Barry laughed. "Just keep chugging milk and your body will get back to normal in no time."

Wally stretched and winced. "Cool. And then we'll get back to work, then?"

"Ah, about that, Kid. I'm not so sure this is a good idea, after all."

"Wh-what do you mean? I was close, right?"

"Eh… You were only a few miles per hour short of hitting Mach 2 towards the end, but _0.004 seconds_  away from impact, you decided to slow down considerably. You actually skidded hard enough in that fraction of a second to drop  _below_  the speed of sound right before your head met concrete. In any other circumstance, I would be very impressed that you decelerated so instantaneously."

"... So I chickened out?" Wally mumbled, feeling somewhat bitter at his head-pounding failure.

"Your self-preservation instincts kicked in, Kid. It's natural. In fact, it probably saved you from hurting yourself even more. That said… It's unlikely you'll pass through the wall by sheer speed alone. I'd be willing to bet that you could hit the speed Threshold if the moment called for it without an issue. But, if you ask me, I'd say you should work on your force of will to get you that extra push when your molecules start interacting with the molecules of the concrete."

"Willpower?" Wally scoffed in disdain. " _Willpower_  is holding me back from reaching the next level?"

Barry ruffled his hair with a small smile. "Basically. You know, I bet Hal would be more than happy to train with you on that this weekend. If there's anyone in this business who has 'will' to spare, it's him. I'll give him a call and set something up."

"Sure," Wally breathed, resisting the urge to itch his nose under the big bandage.

"In the meantime, you need to heal. And," the Scarlet Speedster sighed and pulled out his cellphone. "You need to give your mother a call. I had to call her last time, now it's your turn."

_Oh. Crap._

His parents had not been exactly  _pleased_  when he came home a few days ago wrapped like a mummy and too drugged to walk in a straight line.  _You need to be more careful_ , they'd lectured.  _Don't take unnecessary risks. Come home in one piece. No arm breaks, no high stakes, or no milkshakes._

Not even a week had passed and he already nearly shattered his face. Great.

Wally's mom picked up on the third ring, "Hey, Barry. How's Colorado? You boys doing okay?"

Wally took a deep breath (through the mouth) and answered begrudgingly through his squashed nasal passages, "H-Hi, Mom. It's me. So, funny story…"

* * *

 **MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 4, 23:55 EST**

"Ooo, nice nose, Baywatch. Tell me. Did you break it trying to kiss your reflection?"

_Well, if it isn't the Queen of Snark herself._

Wally cracked his knuckles, as if preparing to arm-wrestle a bear. "Artemis, you're still here? I'd assumed you'd gone home. Now, is your address on the  _sixth_  circle of the hell, or the _seventh_?" Artemis flopped on the couch next to him and poked his nose  _right_  where the bandage lay. "Ouch. Violence. Definitely seventh."

"Referencing Dante? That would mean,  _gasp_ , you read? I had no idea!" she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I know! It's amazing I can even tie my shoes, isn't it?" Wally mimicked her raspy voice, outwardly mocking and inwardly resisting the notion that her voice was  _sexy_.

As if.

No way.

Psh.

_Well, actually…_

"What are you watching?" Artemis asked, hugging her knees to her chest.

"N-nothing!" Wally blurted, switching the channel quickly, but not before  _The Notebook_ came back from commercial.

"Oh, my gosh."

"Aw,  _man_ ," Wally moaned, realizing he had just lost all his street cred as Artemis started snickering to his left.  _Here we go._

"You-"

"No!"

"-were watching-"

"I wasn't!"

"-  _The_   _Notebook_?!"

Wally had had a long enough week and been through enough frustration that at this point, he was done. One-million-percent  _done_. "Fine! Yes! I was watching  _The Notebook_!" He jumped to his feet and threw his hands up in the air with abandon. "I like the movie- no, I  _love_  the movie. It makes me feel things, and yes, I cry at very important, emotionally-jarring scenes. So laugh! Go on, laugh!" He narrowed his eyes at Artemis, expecting her to cackle in his face and start texting and tweeting and whatever-else, milking this moment of weakness for all it was worth.

But instead, the archer propped her chin on her knees, looking up at him with humor in her eyes. And… wait, was  _her face turning red_? Filter-less in his exhaustion, Wally made a face and blurted his exact thoughts, "Are you blushing?"

Artemis, who must have been just as tired as he was, objected half-heartedly, "No! No…" She sighed, eventually shrugging. "Gosh... What can I say? I like  _The Notebook_ , too. It... makes all of us feel things."

"Oh." Wally wasn't quite sure what to do with this, and glanced at the TV where MMA was now showing. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... You… you want me to put it back on?"

"I-If you want, I guess."

"Oh. Um, okay."

And that was the reason why Wally and Artemis ended up sitting on the couch after midnight, crying together over a romantic drama with popcorn and M&Ms. It was stupid, it made no sense, and neither one would admit to anything taking place afterwards. There was no snuggling, no hand-holding, no physical contact of  _any nature_. As far as anyone was concerned, the entire night didn't even exist in history.

And yet, something did change between them in those wee weekend morning hours. Slightly.

While the recent 'calm spell' did keep Wally on edge, and though he seemed to be in a rough patch regarding trust with his friends, the break did allow him to think of other things. Blonde things. Snarky things. (And much as he tried to deny it…  _attractive_  things.)

* * *

 **BELLE REVE  
** **December 4, 22:06 CST**

Almost an hour earlier, the most secure containment facility for supervillains in the world was compromised.

Sportsmaster made his way into Belle Reve Prison according to plan, with laser grids and motion sensors deactivating one by one according to a schedule. His progress proceeded uninterrupted, and he was able to reach his target - Professor Ivo - and make the extraction from the prison in record time.

Because 'the most secure containment facility for supervillains in the world' was actually a farce for a greater organization within the criminal network. And at its center of controls was none other than the resident psychiatrist and newly-appointed warden, Professor Hugo Strange.

It was this man whom Hartley had made the journey to see tonight, following Sportsmaster's shadow without his knowledge and managing to avoid detection as he made his way through the facility. The Pied Piper slid his way through the ventilation shafts and down the corridors through sheer stealth-muscle-memory alone, which was a good thing, because his mind was elsewhere.

Two states north and several days in the past, to be exact.

With Wally.

' _Your existence is currently ruining my life, and if you give two craps about you and me, you'll stop trying to get involved in things that are none of your freakin' business.'_

The things Hartley'd said to him.

' _Piss off.'_

The things he'd  _done_.

_The sensation of his fist punching roughly into Wally's face. The feel of his Converse kicking deep against Wally's gut._

The things he'd…  _felt_ , every second he was in Wally's presence.

He was a terrible excuse for a human being.

They weren't friends. How could they? How could you be friends with someone that you were willing to betray? With someone you were willing to beat and injure, all for the sake of keeping a comfortable distance? How could you be friends with… your enemy?

You couldn't.

And yet, Wally kept  _trying_.

From Tuesday onward, the other ginger had shown up to English class with a muffin and a card. Hartley had read the first one, and then crumpled it and threw it away first chance he got. He didn't want Wally's idiotic  _apologies_. The guy hadn't done anything wrong to be sorry  _for_. Hartley alone was to blame. And he had to be okay with that. He had to be okay with pushing Wally away - figuratively and physically. He had to be okay with punching and kicking the only friend he'd ever had... especially considering what was coming. Even though every hit he gave to Wally felt like a brick hitting himself,  _he had to be okay with that_.

Embrace it even.

Welcome it.

Occupational hazard, right?

Hartley knew he was seriously messed up in the head.

 _Well, Wally wanted me to see a shrink, but I bet this probably isn't what he had in mind,_ Hartley wryly thought to himself.

"The Pied Piper." The prison psychiatrist and acting warden announced without looking up from the android he was working with. "Please, come in. And, ah, feel free to close the door. We should have our privacy."

Hartley felt chills run down his spine at the sound of the man's voice. His ears could pick up the carefully-controlled vibrations of Strange's vocal cords - silky, and yet dangerous… like a snake. But what did he expect, anyways? After all, he was in the presence of a corrupt leader in a prison of villains in the dead of night.

"Professor Strange," Hartley acknowledged, his voice dropped to the lower tone of his alter-ego's. "Thanks for meeting with me. I-"

"Tell me your real name."

"W-what?" Hartley was caught off guard. Strange wanted him to toss aside his secret identity, right off the bat? "Why would I do that?"

Professor Strange still didn't glance up from the android, but his voice was like smoke, encircling Hartley like a soothing fog and making him heed the psychiatrist's words. "This is a safe space. Unlike many of the inmates here, I'm bound to a personal code of confidentiality. And experience has shown that when you open with something personal - your identity - I'm better able to help. So, Piper. Tell me who you are," he repeated patiently. Methodically. Smooth, cold, and direct, like a knife.

Against his better wisdom, the ginger sat down on the other seat in the room and replied, "Hartley. Hartley Rathaway."

"Excellent. Hello, Hartley." Professor Strange finished with the android and set it aside, rising to shake the hand of the young flutist. "I had been expecting your call. I'm glad you could use the opportunity of the  _unfortunate_  security failure to meet with me tonight."

"Thanks for cooperating on short notice," Hartley muttered. "I-I'm here because… because Cold said you could help me with my… um…"

"Yes, we do have an arrangement." Strange nodded, ever smooth, ever patient. "Would you like to give a brief overview of the issue we need to address?"

"Sure," said the Pied Piper. "Okay. This is my sister. Jerrie Rathaway."

Hugo raised an eyebrow in confusion and removed his shaded glasses, looking at the chair to which this 'Hartley' was gesturing. Well.

It seemed the psychiatrist really had his work cut out for him tonight.

Because the chair was empty.

_The sister - Jerrie - didn't even exist._

Hartley sighed and crossed his arms. "Yeah. You see my problem?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Okay! Whole bunch of stuff happens in this chapter!
> 
> So I mainly focused on one major theme in this chapter: relationships. Especially as Wally's situation has evolved in more ways than one. This chapter was meant to explore how Wally interacted with his circle: mainly Roy, Dick, and Hartley.
> 
> One thing I wanted to show was that Hartley's conflict and situation has been affecting him as well, so it was bound to show up in Wally's presence sooner or later, and next chapter will dive deep into his own convoluted mind - and have implications for the near and distant future.
> 
> And for Dick, I tried to show how he reasons with things and makes decisions, which can be difficult when most of this entire story is from Wally's perspective. As one who, in both seasons 1 and 2, has a habit of keeping things to himself or to as few people as possible, Dick's… interesting to work with.
> 
> Also, I've always been somewhat curious about how Zatanna and Wally get along, considering someone is in denial about the existence of magic. I like to think that they've got a pretty fantastic ongoing debate between them, and they seem like their stubborn, intellectual personalities would make for a pretty amusing friendship. But that's just me. :)
> 
> Anyway, this was a pretty long chapter, and there was more dialogue than action this time. I'm curious about what you think - was the dialogue/length too much? Did it work? Suggestions? Predictions? Likes/dislikes? Any favorite/least favorite parts? I'd love to get your opinion, so feel free to review!
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie
> 
> Next on Outlier: Cascades, Part Two. Hartley reveals Jerrie's story to Strange, Roy finally takes a mission with the Team, and the Rogues resurface at last. It quickly becomes clear that there is a lot on Wally and Barry's plate, and Christmas is right around the corner.


	16. Cascade, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're tired, really bone-dead tired, your mind begins to change. Your thoughts go astray. Your temper and patience shorten. You struggle to remember details, and you struggle in your most basic and fundamental relationships. When you're tired, you're most at risk for the unexpected - and least prepared to react and handle the unexpected when it comes. At its most extreme, fatigue can be your most formidable enemy.
> 
> Wally hasn't had a good night's sleep in twenty-four days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Whew, BIG wait for this one! I blame more tech and Wi-Fi problems. Plus my own summer laziness. And other stuff with school and family and such. Anyways, back to the groove! Thanks so much to everyone for reading, reviewing (over 250 reviews woo!), favoriting, and following this story!
> 
> I hate making goals because it seems to just jinx me into failing them (sorry to everyone who I said this chapter was coming 'soon'), but what the hey: I hope to finish writing "Outlier" by this December, to mark the 2 (TWO) year anniversary of starting the story. Here's to making that goal a reality! :)
> 
> Regarding the actual show, this chapter includes the core of EPISODE 23: "INSECURITY", as well as a reference to EPISODE 24: "PERFORMANCE", which will come into play next chapter as well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave a review if you feel like it!
> 
> ~Iron Woobie

**16**

**CASCADE, PART TWO**

**BELLE REVE  
December 4, 22:23 CST**

It was a dimly lit room. Strange had turned off all the lighting except for a small lamp on a side table, which cast an eerie glow against the wall.

"It started when we - when  _I_  was a kid. My parents came home one day, out of their minds with grief and confusion, and they wouldn't tell me anything. I had to piece things together from nanny rumors and hidden conversations." Hartley was leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together, chin resting on his hands in thought. Strange sat back in his seat, simply listening with an entirely neutral expression behind his round spectacles.

"I'd gotten pretty good at lip-reading by then, so I got the gist of it. I was supposed to have a new baby sister on the way, Jeraldine Rathaway - Mom was about four or five months pregnant with her - and they'd gone to have an ultrasound, but… they couldn't find the baby anymore. Not even a trace. It's… geez, hard to explain all this… it was like nobody was in there, nobody had ever been in there, and yet Mom hadn't exactly…  _shrunk_  much." Hartley's eyes raised to meet Strange's piercing gaze from beneath his hood, and he shrugged. "It wasn't even something like a miscarriage or anything. It was like… like someone had kidnapped a baby pre-birth. It was super bizarre, especially to six-year-old me."

He rubbed his eyes tiredly; it was really late after all. "But I'd always had this inner feeling, deep deep down, that that wasn't the full story. I'd never heard her heartbeat, but I'd felt it before, and I figured… I dunno, maybe I was in denial. Maybe I still am."

"Go on," Strange prodded him, and Hartley sighed.

"Nine months came along, and Mom started having something like contractions, but just briefly. I'll spare you the gory details, but long story short... our family of three stayed that way in the books, and we were all starting to get convinced that the entire pregnancy had just been some weird twist of our collective imagination. And yet,  _I_  still grew up with a baby sister, right by my side." He turned to smile at Jerrie, who had been perched in her seat as silent as ever, playing with her hair nervously as Strange seemed to stare right through her. "It didn't take me long to realize the rest of the world wasn't quite 'in on the joke'."

The prison psychiatrist leaned forward, exhaling thoughtfully. After a long pause, he asked, "What does she look like?"

Hartley blinked, and swallowed a moment.  _Was Strange actually buying this? Or was he just playing along, humoring him?_ "Sh-she's got red hair, pretty long and thick… um, b-blue eyes, dark blue like the color of a can of Pepsi, and freckles all over. Height about… what?" He glanced at her to be sure. "Would you say... four foot eleven? Five feet?" He nodded in affirmation. "Five feet. And  _really_  thin. Like a beanpole."

"And yet she lacks weight to leave an indentation in her seat." Strange hummed at this information, cocking his head as he peered at Hartley with scrutiny. "Can you touch her? Do you feel her form?"

Hartley stared at the older man for a moment. "Yeah." He reached over and ruffled Jerrie's hair encouragingly. "It's the only reason I'm here right now, Doc. She's real. Realer than… I dunno, realer than you, honestly."

"So she possesses some amount of mass, even if gravity has no hold on it in terms of weight... Can we touch?" Strange's mouth quirked in curiosity, and he stretched out his hand into the space between them, reaching vaguely towards Jerrie. "Ah, care to shake my hand, Ms. Rathaway?"

"H-hold on now-" Hartley's face contorted with dread as he saw the terrified expression on his sister's face. She was backing away from Strange in her seat, already fading from his own view. "Hang on, Jerrie, don't- Shoot. She's gone."

" _Gone?"_  Strange's brow furrowed, and he returned his attention to Hartley full-force. "Do explain."

"She's… O-okay, I know how this looks, I know how this sounds-" Hartley dragged a hand through his hair underneath his hood with a sigh of exasperation, but Strange pressed on.

"Does she disappear often? Does she do so willingly, or is it entirely accidental? Where does she go?"

With a groan, Hartley crossed his arms in frustration. "Uh, she only does it when she's scared, it's a defense mechanism. Um, like when someone tries to touch her or throws something that would collide with her, she'll just… vanish. She… I don't really know where she  _goes_ , but she comes back to me when she reappears. And she always reappears, though sometimes it takes a few days. Weeks, once."

"I see. And have you ever asked her where she travels to when she leaves?" Strange asked, clasping his hands together with intrigue.

"She... she can't talk. She's mute," Hartley muttered with a shrug.

"Ah, and yet you are able to communicate."

"Sort of. She can hear me, and she sends me... thoughts. Impressions. I can usually gauge her emotions at any given moment. We don't have trouble understanding each other." Hartley crossed his legs, and the room temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees, his voice delving into something cold and stern. "Well, I've answered tons of your questions. Tell me, and be honest. What do you think? Should I be locked up in the loony bin?"

Hugo Strange didn't say anything for a long time. He sat there, observing Hartley from behind those menacingly innocent round glasses, before slowly standing to his feet and pacing around the office. Hartley's eyes followed the psychiatrist around the room as he reached up to a shelf and pulled down a large binder, silently setting it down on a countertop. Strange pried the massive object open with some effort and began flipping through some pages, pausing, and flipping through some more.

Hartley drummed his fingers on his knees, bouncing his legs impatiently. "Gonna give me anything? A hint?"

"I doubt you are anything short of fully  _sane_ , Hartley," Strange commented calmly, not looking up from the binder pages. "At the same time, I believe we are both missing crucial parts of a bigger picture. There is only so much I can do alone, but my job description includes being, ah, informed of what others can do as well. And furthermore- ah." He tugged a sheet free from the binder and returned to his seat opposite of Hartley. "Furthermore, you have not quite stated what you expect to gain from this particular session. Perhaps if you would care to share what  _you_  would like to have done, we can both gain some insights and move forward."

Hartley bit his lip, restraining himself from strangling the psychiatrist for his smooth evasiveness. "I just… I want answers, Strange.  _Solutions_. I want proof that I'm not crazy, that Jerrie is as real as I know she is. And… I wanna  _make_ her that real. Considering the kind of wacky, super-juiced establishment you're running? I'm currently betting my livelihood, my sanity, and my  _freedom_  that accomplishing this is entirely within the realm of possibility."

"And I agree. I believe that your solution - and, ah, your wish for resolution - is this."

Strange handed him the sheet of paper without another word, and Hartley stared at the text and the attached photograph with a beat of confusion before disbelieving recognition hit him like a strike of lightning.

"You have  _got_  to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the paper and crinkling it almost as if he were trying to capture hope itself in his desperate grasp. "Is this serious? What's the catch?"

"Ah, surprising, isn't it? But after all, you  _are_ in Belle Reve. Access to power comes with the territory, so to speak." Strange pulled out a clipboard, writing a bit as he replied, "You see, Hartley, you've unknowingly set yourself in quite an advantageous position within a long chain of favors among the, ah… the  _network_." He gave a grim smile, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "Your work with Cold leaves him indebted to you. A collection of… visionaries, let's say, owe a favor to the ice man for his services in a certain operation on these premises back in September. I am in need of reciprocating my advance to these visionaries, and after tonight's coincidental security breach..." he gestured to the paper, sitting back in his chair, " _this_  figure of power is indebted to me for allowing a connection with a certain inmate."

"That's a lot of debt and favors."

"Indeed. But you, however, owe nothing. Cold asked me to tell you to, ah, 'just finish your end of the job'. It's that simple." Strange pulled his sheet of paper free from his clipboard and placed it into an envelope. "Signed, sealed, delivered, Piper."

Hartley whistled and pursed his lips. He could tell that Jerrie was feeling a rare ray of hope, wherever the heck she was right now. "So this is the…  _network_  in action?"

Strange occupied his attention with addressing the envelope without looking up. "The so-called 'heroes' like to see the world as a place designed to benefit them alone. And, in the eyes of governments and the public, one would think this was the case on the surface. But it is incredibly naive to think so. Contrary to what they choose to believe, those of us on the, ah, other side of the law enjoy a certain understanding that comes with the game of risk we all play. And ah, that comes with quite unique - and as you can tell,  _powerful_  - advantages."

"Well, yeah, but I'd never have imagined  _this_." Hartley shook his head in awe and shrugged. "It's a game changer. You guys don't mess around."

The psychiatrist looked up, clicking his pen closed with a nod and a small, surprisingly genuine smile. "We take care of our own."

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 5, 17:01 EST**

It was one of those weekends where Wally's body seemed to be confused and arguing with itself about whether it was tired or sore. It just couldn't seem to decide on one or the other, and the result was a general feeling of weary exhaustion that lent itself to a bad mood.

Now, Wally considered himself to be an upbeat sort of guy, so a bad mood for him typically didn't sour his entire being, unlike _some_  people he won't mention. (Ahem,  _Roy._ ) But it did leave him on edge that entire weekend, an intense two days of training with Uncle Barry, jitters from the cold and his hyperactive molecules overcompensating, general anxiety about Hartley and Dick and Roy and frankly  _himself_ , and with finals around the corner…

The recurring nightmares weren't helping.

And along with the little to no sleep, he'd been eating overkill lately, but seemed to be burning away energy faster than ever, so it felt like he was eating peanuts for meals. His mom had to go to the grocery store four times over the course of 38 hours… and wasn't pleased. Wally was just retaining less energy these days, though he couldn't explain why.

But one cure for bone-deep exhaustion? Having one of your best friends finally give in and join the Team.

That's right, the Amazingly Stubborn Roy Harper was suited up and ready to go in the Cave on this particular night, unlike Wally, who was actually more than willing to take a break from missions on this particular evening. One look at the unexpected-but-totally welcome new member, and he was glad he'd brought along his suit in his backpack for the odd 'just in case' scenario.

"So. What I said really got to you, huh?" He grinned, slugging Roy in the shoulder with a laugh.

"Geez, Wally, watch those bony knuckles." Roy rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "And… yeah. A little. Ollie had something to do with it too. And… there's something I need to check up on anyways." He looked at Kaldur with a serious look that sent some red flags going off, but those red flags were just barely flapping in the breeze, sorta just floating off their little flagpoles and almost falling in the mud and… That metaphor really got away from him.

_Wakey wakey, Wall-man_. Wally groaned and rubbed his eyes, jumping a bit when the Zeta tubed announced another arrival.

_Recognized. Artemis. B07._

Green Arrow, their den-mother for the evening apparently (and probably there to make sure Roy showed up), greeted his mentee with a happy smile. "Artemis, just in time. Look who's agreed to join the Team."

"Finally!" Wally exclaimed, putting stretching his arms out in victory - and just to stretch his muscles.

But the blonde firecracker seemed to have a cloud over her head as she begrudgingly replied, "Sure. Team's needed a  _real archer_."

_Well. Someone's touchy. What's up with her?_

The briefing started, and while Wally was totally paying attention, or at least  _half_ his attention, to Green Arrow's schpeal, Dick was texting him in his absence.

Dick:  _and then Bruce said  
_ Dick:  _'always be present for a ceremony, unless you are in a coma, in a conflict, or in a coffin'_

Wally:  _nice. classic Bruce._

Dick:  _i know rite? anyway, i gotta receive this dumb award instead of hanging with you. and i've got a pretest early in the morning so i can't even drop by the cave later._

Wally:  _pretest? lame, dude you should be here_   _instead cuzzzzzz  
_ Wally:  _ROY IS BACK.  
_ Wally:  _I REPEAT ROY HARPER IS BACK ON THE TEAM._

Dick: …  _i hate my life so much right now. punch him for me. please. real hard, so he knows i mean it._

Wally:  _haha, will do man. have fun at your ceremony._

Dick:  _i won't._

Green Arrow finally said something interesting. "—Thought the sidekicks, sorry,  _ex-sidekicks_  could suit up on this. Aqualad, Kid Flash, Red Arrow."

Wally could feel the other two guys perk up, and with a big grin, he punched Roy in the arm, making sure to put as much of his 'bony knuckles' into it as possible. "That's for Robin," he whispered under his breath and heard him huff in silent laughter, a rare smile gracing the face of the otherwise stoic archer.

But… oh. Artemis wanted in, too. That was… that was cool, Wally supposed.  _I mean, it would've been nice to just run the assignment with the guys, catch up, just like old times. But… but this is cool, too. No problem._

So, Wally had forgotten in his exhaustion to wash the suit with the stealth-tech since the Qurac-Bialya mission, and in a choice between wearing a less-cool suit under a dark-color disguise and wearing a speedster-level-sticky-dirty-sweaty suit plus nearly two weeks of funk?

Yeah. He was going with the disguise. Perks, though - he got to ride a motorcycle again. Putting that helmet on always made him feel like a spy in an action movie. Mission Impossible. James Bond. Bourne. All the greats.

The Bioship took off pronto, wanting to minimize as much time and space between them and their lead on Sportsmaster. With Artemis at the controls, the vehicle skimmed the water expertly before heading up to flight altitude, visibility pretty decent through the dark skies and misty clouds.

_... Hey. Hey, Kid Oblivious. Wake up._

Wally jerked up from where his head was almost nodding against his chest, and he shook himself to a more aware state. And it seemed like his left and right halves of his brain were trying to have a conversation. It was painful to experience.

_Hey. Hey, you know what you should do?_

_About what?_

_About Artemis._

_Artemis?_

_You know, Artemis?_

_The Artemis sitting behind me?_

_Yes, that one. Geez, you really need to find some caffeine, man. Anyways, she seems off. She could use some cheering up._

_What do I do about it?_

_What do you about… Okay, I'll spell it out for you. Talk. To. Her. Now!_

After a pause, Wally spun around in his seat, abruptly rubbing the back of his head.  _Speak, idiot!_ "Uh… this could end up being one of those things that sounds better in my head than out loud, but…" Inhaling, he leaned forward to look his teammate in the eye. "You  _are_ a real archer."

Judging by the look on her face, that probably didn't come out right, though he couldn't be sure why.

Helpless, Wally threw up his hands, "No, I mean, I'm jazzed about Red Arrow! Uh, we go way back, y'know? But you," He looked at her seriously, and that seemed to get Artemis's close attention. "You've made your own place on the Team. You have nothing to prove… not to me. Okay?" He smiled, and after looking down, Artemis gave a small smirk of her own.

"Okay. And, Wally?" He turned around at the sound of her voice, eyebrows raised. "It sounded… fine, out loud," she admitted, and Wally could feel his two brain hemispheres high-five in victory.

_You did good. Now, stay awake._

Easier said than done. It wasn't long before Wally got to pacing, just for the sake of keeping his eyes open. Hopefully, M'gann wouldn't find out.

* * *

**ORLEANS PARISH  
** **December 5, 21:27 CST**

_Five Hour Energy. More like 'five second energy'. Who uses this stuff?_

Wally knew better than rely on energy shots to get his brain rolling, but he was willing to try anything, even downing suspicious liquids on the dismount from the Bioship into the bayous.

Bayous. Really, one of his least favorite places to run missions, or in general. The weather was always uncomfortable, especially for those on the Team who had the unfortunate uniform material of skintight  _spandex and lycra_. Clothes stuck to your body like leeches to a leg, and with Wally's own friction constantly at work, there were some nights where he'd take over two hours trying to peel away from the suit that seemed almost melted into him.

Plus the ground was squishy in a lot of places, which made it hard to steer and bank and run in general. Good thing he didn't have to deal with that as much tonight, he told himself as he climbed onboard the motorcycle.

"Target's heading north. Pursue, but maintain a discreet distance," Red Arrow ordered over the comms, and Wally stifled a snicker. He appreciated the secret agent motif, but Roy always took the concept to extremes. He wondered if his friend had a theme song in his head every time he went crime fighting.

Probably.

"He's stopped. Hold your positions. I'm moving in for a closer look," Red Arrow said quietly, and Wally set the bike on its kickstand, his feet itching to touch solid ground. He waited, listening with baited breath and drumming his fingertips on the handlebars.

There seemed to be a commotion, the sound of fighting that made Wally tense up, feeling that shot of electricity shooting down his spine that kicked up his adrenaline for what was bound to be a long night. He stripped out of motorcycle gear and adjusted his suit, trying to minimize noise while listening in. He could pick up some background conversation on the comm… that was… that was  _Cheshire._  Weird.

But things got weirder.

"Why, Arrow." That was Cheshire's silky, sneaky voice. "If you wanted another date, you only had to ask."

Artemis and Wally shouted in unison over the comms, "You two are dating?!" Was  _this_ what Roy was up to on all his random disappearances? Talk about 'covert ops.'

"W-what? No!" Roy sputtered in alarm.

"Why deny the attraction? After all, Arrow,  _you're_   _here._ "

Sprinting a touch faster through the bog and trees, Wally came in view of the scene and almost couldn't believe his eyes along with his ears.  _Gah, I am never gonna get that image out of my head._

Because, really?

_Really?_

Roy and  _Cheshire?_  "But at least a kiss is still a kiss," the cat-villain was saying - in  _liplock with Wally's best friend!_  He somewhat got over his initial shock, making a mental note to  _destroy_  Roy over his little 'tryst with the bad guy thing' and laugh about it with Dick at his side. For now, sweet combat.

He slammed into Cheshire with a little more force than necessary, sending her flying fifty feet backwards.  _Ouch. That's gotta hurt._ He stayed there crouched awkwardly on the ground for a second, his sore muscles protesting and berating him for taking this mission in the first place. Ignoring the twinge in his own shoulder and the random guilt he felt at ramming  _Roy's freaking girlfriend_  into the dirt, he picked up the discarded weapon with pride. "And a sai is just a sai. And quite the souvenir, by the way."

Cue Red Arrow and Artemis getting into a shootoff and half the Team splitting off with the intention of "prioritizing."

"Oh, that's gotta sting. He makes the shot you were afraid to even try."

Wally whirled around at the villainess's voice at his back, rising up warily.  _Cheshire's really into mind games, it seems. In more ways than one._

Artemis fired a shot at her in retaliation just as Aqualad came in over the comms. "Artemis, Kid, listen. We lost Sportsmaster. Distract Cheshire long enough to plant a tracer on her person, but do  _not_ win the fight. We need to find their rendezvous point."

Fighting to lose. Not the most fun course of action a mission. It usually meant taking unnecessary hits that would ache later on, but oh well. Might as well make the most of it.

_Hey. Negative Nolan. Snap out of it!_

As Wally took off speeding, dodging the sharp blades their opponent tossed in his path, he was reminded of Boomerang's attack. Similar styles. Wow. Was that really only weeks ago? It seemed ages since that museum debacle, and he'd been around the bend and back again.

"Leave him alone!" Artemis shouted, attacking Cheshire at close-range before getting kicked aside with such force that Wally winced in sympathy. He skid behind her and helped her up.

She protested, playing along with a disdainful, "Forget me! What about… Cheshire."

_That cat's got a real knack for disappearing on the fly. Maybe she and Robin should do a Vanish-Off or something._ Wally turned to the archerette hopefully. She was always great with subtleties in combat. "Did you…"

"Tracer's on her sword."

Relieved that something went right, Wally squeezed her arms and exclaimed, "Brilliant! I knew you could- Oh hey, there's the guys!" Despite their apparent success so far, which Wally made sure to communicate in their short debriefing and discussion on what to do next, Red Arrow had his arms crossed and his face in that perpetual scowl that never seemed to really go away these days. "Sportsmaster was headed south. Kinda like this mission."

Who spit in your Wheaties, Roy? Honestly.

_He's probably just mad because his secret evil girlfriend cat's been let out of the bag._

Cue more bickering,  _nyeh nyeh nyeh_ … Wally was starting to get a massive headache, irritatedly breaking in, "So let's stop looking to place blame and start looking for Cheshire."

Artemis held up the tracker, tossing it to Red Arrow sourly. "Here. Since clearly, I can't be trusted,  _you_ track her."

Wally paused. He'd seen that same look in Artemis's eye when she'd entered the Cave earlier, and again when the Bioship took off. He couldn't be sure what was going on in her head, but… He walked over to Red Arrow and snatched the tracker from him, choosing to ignore the frown from one of his oldest friends, and offered it again to the jaded female archer. "Artemis…"

But she only sighed, turning around and waving it off as if it didn't matter to her at all. "It's fine. I'll… follow in the Bioship."

They stared after her for a moment before Aqualad urged Wally, "Go, Kid. Arrow and I will return to the river, and we will  _all_  follow as originally planned."

The three parted ways, heading towards their respective modes of transportation. Wally put on helmet, walking off and rubbing the back of his neck, trying to get rid of this headache. He made another mental note to grill Roy later about why the older boy was giving Artemis such a hard time. There was a fine line between being critical and unfair, and Roy seemed to be double-dutching his way over that line faster than a six-grade girl in a nineties movie, with….

_Uh, what?_

_That's seriously enough metaphors and similes for tonight._

* * *

**NEW ORLEANS  
** **December 5, 22:18 CST**

Wally and Aqualad finally caught up to the tracer. Which had been stuck to the endcar of a train that slowed down to a stop in a nearby depot.

Wally gave a quick search of the surrounding cars, but no cigar. "Well, we've been had," he sighed, leaning against the train car and shrugging frustratedly at Aqualad.

The leader seemed bothered by this, joining his side and looking out at the trainyard where engineers and mechanics were darting to and fro, working under cars and loading and unloading cargo. "It appears that fate conspires against us at every step," the Atlantean admitted, his brow furrowed in confusion. He was clearly thinking, and his thoughts weren't quite…  _happy_.

Tilting his head back to look at the stars in the sky, Wally asked off-handedly, "Hey, Kaldur. Do you ever get… tired?"

"Of course. We all need to sleep, Kid," Aqualad replied with a hesitant smile.

"No, right, but I mean… more like tired on the  _inside_. Like, do you ever wish you could… I dunno, just take a  _break_? Like a really long break?"

"Do you mean, a vacation?"

"Sort of, except you expect vacations to end. Ever get the feeling that you'd like to step away from the game for a while, and only come back when you were ready? Without pressure?" Wally asked tentatively, playing with his motorcycle helmet in his hands.

Kaldur frowned, trying to understand. "… Do you wish to retire, Wally?"

" _No!_  Well, not exactly. Not now, we're in our prime!" He gave a nervous grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess… Kaldur, I've just been really tired lately. I know things will lighten up sooner or later, but it's still… taking its toll, you could say."

"I have felt the same before." Kaldur nodded, looking up at the stars with a sigh. "I took some time away from my studies at the sorcery academy in Atlantis. Training and lessons were rigorous, and I found it helpful to take some time to digest and retain the material, and also to explore parts of the kingdom which had intrigued me. I had intended to return to my studies after my sabbatical, but… fate had other plans. Now I pursue a path I could never have imagined." He turned and gave Wally an encouraging smile. "Do not be afraid to take steps which are best for you."

Wally exhaled a whistle, shaking his head in wonder. "How are you so freaking wise, man? It's ridiculous. But… thanks. It means a lot to hear that." He dipped his head in gratitude to his leader, jumping when the comms in his ear began to crackle.

"Arrow to Aqualad. Located Cheshire and Sportsmaster. Rendezvous at my coordinates."

Aqualad pushed himself away from the train car, running towards his motorcycle while replying, "Acknowledged. Sending Kid ahead." He exchanged one look with Wally, and that was all it took. Wally took off, pulling his goggles over his eyes and stripping out of his biker costume as he sprinted, leaving bayou leaves and dirt road in his wake. While using his gauntlet to locate the archer duo, Wally timed himself. It took him a full 23.17 seconds to arrive on scene – hardly a good time.  _What a sleepy pace there, so-called 'Fastest Kid Alive.'_ Royally ticked off at his own lagging pace, Wally burst into the warehouse a tad bit too hot.

Making it impossible to slow down properly when shouldering Cheshire off of Artemis. Body-on-body impacts were an art form, one that Barry was great at and Wally was at best functional.

He definitely heard the villainess's shoulder pop when they collided for the second time that night, gritting his teeth as his own shoulder earned a 70 mile-per-hour bruise as well. At least Cheshire was far more injured more than he was – probably dislocated her shoulder - but…  _crap,_  that still hurt him, too!

Wally ignored his arm's protest as he helped Artemis to her feat. "Aqualad and I found the tracer on a caboose. And I don't mean Cheshire's." He watched her carefully, hoping for what he wanted to hear.

Artemis paused for a moment, reasoning, "She must have ditched it."

With slight laughter of relief, Wally affirmed, "Y-yeah, figured." But then he thought of something and cocked his head. "Wait. Then how did you and Red end up here?"

Speaking of red, a bright crimson-orange glow of light emanated from a nearby room, sufficiently distracting Wally to the point of allowing Cheshire to tackle him hard to the ground. She hissed in his face. Cat villains.  _Was this retaliation for his excessive force in each of their encounters? Don't really blame her on that front._ "I've got this," he called to Artemis. "Go!" While Artemis went to check out the anomaly, he tried to focus on not breaking every bone in the enemy's body with his inadvertent speed. Pulling his fist back, he aimed a punch to Cheshire's face, flipping her off of him and pinning her down.

"You know," the female baddie taunted, kneeing Wally  _right_  where it counts and springing to her feet. (Thank S.T.A.R. for super cups.) "I can see what she sees in you. You've got that… dorky charm, that clumsy hopelessness that must make you… irresistible. You, and  _Red Arrow._ " She practically purred, even as her legs flew out in a scissor kick that Wally dodged and countered with a kick of his own.

What?

...  _What?_

"What?!" he yelped, sliding under her swinging fist and jabbing her in the side. " _What are you even saying?_  Not one word of that made sense!"

She chuckled darkly, striking out with vehemence but her voice casual. "I'm just saying.  _Ginger men are the tens._ "

Wally wanted to gag. "You're nasty," he grumbled, springboarding off a wall to raid an aerial attack on his opponent.

"So I've been told," she replied, voice sounding uncomfortably suggestive even as she received a knee to the shoulder and staggered backward.

"Ugh, stop." Unsettled and wanting to end this fight sooner than later, Wally struck forth with a hopeful knockout punch, but instead of feeling Cheshire's stupid-creepy mask crack under the force of his fist, he… broke her?

There was that split second of panic that he'd accidentally killed the martial artist – that second being a mere blip in the conscious for any other person, but for him, a good solid period of time during which he felt something in him die.

Only to respawn as soon as he realized he'd just punched a  _solid_  ice sculpture.

And upon realizing that he'd just punched an ice sculpture, Wally's hand, wrist, and arm finally decided to react, and he held back a shout of pain as he clutched his fist to his chest.

Red Arrow, Aqualad, and Artemis gathered nearby to discuss next steps, and Wally walked over, shaking his hand off to try to rid his forearm of the pain. "Guys, did we… did we just lose to  _frozen water_? Seriously? Did that actually happen?"

Counting her arrows, Artemis mumbled, "It was Klarion. Whole bunch of villains in cahoots. They made it sound like they'd just completed some new and powerful weapon, but Klarion just magicked away the whole party instead."

"If we had all been on the same page," Red Arrow snapped, head back in angry defeat, "we  _could_  have approached the situation with better tactics than 'run into a room of unknown villain activity without backup'."

"Oh, are you saying 'better tactics' is stupidly walking up to a warehouse without, gee I don't know,  _looking_   _up?"_ Artemis retorted, pointing the arrow in her hand accusingly at Roy.

Aqualad was silent, not in the mood to tango with the archers, choosing instead to look off into the distance pensively.

"Yeah, yeah, mission's a bust," Wally agreed, crossing his arms with yet another weary sigh that night. "But still. Ice sculptures? Guys, we really  _suck_  at this."

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 6, 03:21 EST**

Wally hadn't seen Aqualad look so tense in several months.

The whole Team was gathered for the debriefing, even those who'd stayed behind for the mission. Aqualad addressed them with his usual formal dignity, but with a touch of infuriated bitterness beneath his otherwise poised exterior. "Let me be clear." His pale blue eyes narrowed, casting a look of pure anger that made Wally take a small, teensy weeny step backwards. "We failed. Though the Injustice League is in custody, their allies still scheme. And we have learned nothing of their plans."

Standing next to Kaldur, Roy wore a grave look on his face, his domino mask doing nothing to conceal the fact that he was glaring daggers –er, arrows— at Artemis in particular. Wally grit his teeth and rolled his shoulders under his uniform, grimacing at the wet, tugging feeling of discomfort beneath skintight lycra.  _Are we really going to do this now? It's been close to 26 hours since I've last seen a bed – can't we just go home?_

Sarcastically, Roy sneered towards the other archer, "Gee, I wonder why."

_Yeah. Guess we're doing this now._

Artemis darted forward to defend herself. "Hey! Who found out Sportsmaster was working for Brain, Klarion and Ivo?"

Roy scoffed. "Yeah, great intel, except Ivo's been in Belle Reve the whole time. And the guards just checked: it's the real Ivo, not a robot."

Squeezing his sore ice-punching hand into a fist at his side, Wally shook the exhaustion from his mind and stepped in. "You know, I'm getting pretty tired of you dumping on her." Leaning up on his toes, Wally got in Roy's face, the confrontational positioning serving as a reminder to not so long ago when he'd convinced the older teen to join the Team for a little fun.  _Some fun._

And just like that time, Wally felt an unseen but impregnable wall between him and the taller ginger. He couldn't place when it'd been constructed, or why it was there, but it was definitely present. Roy wordlessly held up a tracer in Wally's view. "Her tracer, so? Cheshire ditched it," he explained impatiently.

With his brow darkening into a frown, Roy quickly countered. "No, Artemis ditched  _that,"_  he said, gesturing to Kaldur, who was holding yet  _another_  tracer (how many of these things did they use tonight?) "to send us on a wild goose chase. She put  _this_ one on Cheshire."

…  _I don't… I don't understand… Does that mean…_

Wally stared at the confounding object for a moment, a cold feeling of understanding developing in his gut, before swallowing and turning to look at the blonde archer girl behind him. "Artemis?"

Later, Wally would partially blame his mental and physical fatigue for his response. He ordinarily liked to solve problems scientifically, approaching a dispute or discrepancy from every angle in an effort to arrive at the truth. By nature, he wasn't one to turn on someone he trusted simply on a dime and another's accusation. He was a big proponent of benefit of the doubt, and the importance of scientific, empirical  _proof_. One only needed to look at his views on magic to understand that he wasn't one to change his mind quickly.

But Wally was tired. So horribly  _tired_ , and that made his temper, his patience, his mental fuse  _really_  short. No wonder he found it easy to just slip right into jaded fury like a pair of dryer-warm, comforting pajamas.

"Are you  _that_ freaked out about Arrow joining the Team, you had to prove yourself by bringing down the bad guy solo?" he muttered as he met Artemis's defensive gaze with a glare of his own, feeling betrayal, loss, and fatigue cloud his brain as he spoke. " _Please_  tell me I'm wrong."

For her part, Artemis seemed like she was about to say something on her behalf, something that could possibly clear this whole thing up like one huge misunderstanding. There was an expression in her cornered gray eyes that was practically screaming to that exhausted scientific part of Wally's mind that 'there's more to the story, give her a chance!' But ultimately, she just sighed.

_Sigh._

Typical. Holding back, distrusting, keeping secrets, and being overall sketchy towards Wally just seemed to be the trend among today's youth. Between Roy, Dick, Hartley, and now  _Artemis, too?_

Wally was done.

One billion percent done.

As the only emotion left with enough coherency to act, Wally's anger took over full force.

"Well. Nice going. What you've 'proved' is that you're insecure and selfish." Wrinkling his nose in a grimace, he threw the trophy knife at Artemis's feet with as much disgust as could be possibly mustered at a stupid 3:30 in the morning. "Keep the sai." Spinning and snatching the tracer out of Roy's hand, he waved it in the air, growling in conclusion, " _This_ is the right souvenir for the mission."

He walked away, making a beeline for his room but pausing by the trophy shelf. Something boiled inside of him, and he threw the tracker chip at the shelf at about 250 miles per hour, leaving the souvenir cracking and embedding 12 inches deep into the stone wall.

"Ice sculptures. Really."

In his room, he changed into his civvies and stuffed everything into his backpack before taking the Zeta tube home, not saying goodbye to anyone. Especially not Roy. Or Artemis.

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 6, 02:45 EST**

Wally stepped out of the Zeta tube and trudged home, humming some Linkin Park song as he worked his way down the streets, praying for once that nothing exciting happened in his line of sight. He really didn't have it in him to do much more than walk at this point. Front door. Living room. Stairs. Bedroom door. Bed. Sleep. A simple, foolproof, six-step plan.

The plan failed on 'stairs.' His foot nearly missed the first step entirely, and he bodily tripped face-first and just barely caught himself before he slammed his already halfway-healed-broken-nose on the staircase.

"Are you okay?" his mother suddenly asked from behind him, and Wally turned in surprise, bracing himself against the wall.

"I didn't know you were still up."

"You forgot to text me that you were doing a mission," she sighed, taking a sip of her coffee and walking over to sit next to him on a stairstep.

Wally groaned, feeling even crappier than he'd thought was possible. "Sorry, Mom."

"It's fine. Just, you know. Wondering if you were dead or not. No worries," she nudged him in sleepy playfulness that had just enough force to indicate her displeasure with his neglect. "So. You look absolutely wiped. You okay, buddy? Hard night?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Just tired." He pulled his hand through his hair, barely muttering the words through a mouth that gave up talking clearly two minutes ago. "Really, really, really, really…. How many reallys was that?"

"Too many." His mother smiled sadly, brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead with affection. "Don't you think you're wearing yourself out lately, honey?"

Wally didn't know what to say. His mom knew only a fraction of what had really been going on in his life, and with that alone she was concerned. He looked down at his sneakers, and then up, meeting his mom's gaze with an expression that probably read something along the pathetic lines of " _help me."_ It seemed to be answer enough.

... He blinked, and suddenly he was in bed with his phone buzzing on the nightstand. How he got there was a mystery, but he was thankful that his muscles could finally relax against the soft mattress and sheets.

Dick:  _dude, r u alive?_

Wally:  _yeah, back home from mission._

Dick:  _how'd it go? roy still in peak form?_

Wally:  _our boy's definitely still got it. better than ever.  
_ Wally:  _but mission sucked. bad.  
_ Wally:  _also probably screwed things up with artemis._

Dick:  _that does suck. i'm sorry._

There was a pause, and then his best friend seemed to type tentatively.

Dick:  _for real,_ _are you ok, man? you've just seemed… i dunno. inhuberant._

Wally:  _… that a robinism? pls define. brain 2 tired 2 work._

Dick:  _inhuberant: opposite of exhuberant. down n out, bummed, sick, dazed, stressed, just not… asterous._

Wally:  _… ask me that again 2moro. i don't trust my answer rite now dude._

Dick:  _… sure.  
_ Dick:  _good night._

Wally:  _nite._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 8, 06:25 CST**

"I'm heading out," Hartley called into his home, announcing his departure to school and mostly hoping he could get away before his mom started asking questions.

No such luck.

"Just a minute, young man." Rachel Rathaway appeared from around the corner, approaching Hartley in the foyer with the stalking crouch of a lioness on the hunt. "I have a question for you."

He gulped and backed up towards the door. "Y-yeah, Mom? I don't want to be late—"

"There was an extra plate set out for breakfast this morning. Again. We both know how it got there." She tossed her bright red hair off of her shoulder, putting her hands on her hips with a frown. Her voice was clipped as she remarked, "You  _know_  what we agreed on, Hartley. You promised to start minimalizing that behavior."

Hartley had been feeding Jerrie since the day she was born. Milk bottles became sippy cups became baby food and cheerios and eventually omelets and pancakes and bacon. They had a system, and it worked. He knew it was part of the only reason his ghost of a sister was alive at this point, and no matter what he 'promised' to his parents, he wasn't about to give up nurturing his younger sibling just because it seemed odd to everyone out of the loop. Which just happened to be the entire world, but that was beside the point.

"I know," he exhaled, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders. "Sorry, I just forgot."

His mother shook her head, looking out the window with pursed lips. "What's more, you decided to secretly eat the extra food anyways. Why, I'll never guess—"

"Wait, what?" Hartley suddenly perked up, taking a step forward. Jerrie never ate the food in others' presence or left evidence of her meal for others to see; she was always too timid and cautious. "It's gone?"

"… Yes."

"Wow." He smiled, spotting his sister peeking at him from across the living room on the couch. With a wink, he mouthed, "Good job."  _She was growing up. That meeting with Strange has been doing wonders for her boldness._

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I think it's time I go—"

"Hartley, we mean well for you." His mother's eyes were narrowed, and she had caught hold of the strap on his backpack, trapping him in the foyer to succumb to her will. "And this irrational behavior, this…  _neuroticism_ , it's not healthy. It is unacceptable."

Hartley bristled under her grasp, meeting her gaze with a steely look in his own blue eyes. " _It's not 'neurotic', Mom_. It's… it's a coping mechanism." That was his cover story for over a decade now.

"One that you need to grow out of. You are sixteen years old, after all."

"You can't just... Ugh!" More than fed up from having this exact same conversation dozens of times over the past few months, Hartley pulled away and threw his hands up in the air. "Honestly, what kind of parents are you? It's like you don't even care about Her at all—"

"' _She' is not real!"_  his mother suddenly screamed, her face wearing an expression of pained outrage and her voice resounding and amplifying against the tile, wood, and stone acoustics of the spacious home. Several servants ran for cover, while others peeked out curiously from the balcony upstairs. In the background, Jerrie's face flickered with an expression of confusion before she, too, vanished from the scene.

But Hartley remained, staring down his mother with an internal conflict and rage that had been constantly kindled for several weeks now. "If only you knew," he slowly growled, dipping into that tone of voice normally only reserved for his…  _extracurricular_ musical activities _._ "If only you knew it all, you'd be singing a different tune." He took another step forward, towering over the woman who'd failed to raise him all these years, hissing, "If I were you, I'd start paying attention. You're going to find out real soon that you've been treading on thin ice."

Rachel Rathaway was not a woman who cowered. She was an iron lady, always had been, and nothing, not even the larger imposing figure of her teenaged son, was going to intimidate her into something so classless as  _fear_. She met his gaze with a hardness she often reserved only for boardroom meetings and bridge club gatherings. "You truly think you're something. Don't you." She pressed forward, pointing her manicured nail like a claw into Hartley's chest, as her own voice pitched into deep, threatening, growling tones.  _Hartley certainly didn't take after his father in this regard_. "You really think you can defend this insanity you call daily living. Mr. Hartley Rathaway, all grown up with nowhere to go but down. You think you're above it all. You think you don't care."

Standing up straighter in her navy blue high heels, she got in his face, whispering with a cold, silent fury that emanated from her very being. "If you don't watch your step, young man, you might find yourself on the wrong side of society. And I am not talking about class or wealth. I am talking about liberty." Rachel sneered, patting his shoulder mockingly. "You know, you may be right all along. Maybe you're not like the rest of the family tree. Maybe you'll forge new ground. Perhaps you will be the first Rathaway in history to establish yourself in a  _jail cell_."

Hartley laughed bitterly, backing away from his mother towards the door. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms and staying put. "I simply want what's best for you, Hartley. That's all."

Sighing, he looked at her blankly, the anger in his mind fading away, and leaving him with nothing but a sense of apathy. "You know, Mom? I've never believed that. And if we're honest, neither have you." And with that, he turned away and left the mansion, beginning the long walk to school.

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 11, 14:29 EST**

It was one of those lame Saturday afternoons where nothing good was on TV except for lame reruns. Wally lounged on the couch with a family-sized bag of chips, flipping channels with sluggish clicks of the remote in hopes of something halfway exciting to appear onscreen.

"Baywatch, you hungry?"

_Artemis._  Not exactly Wally's favorite person right now. "I'm always hungry," he grumbled. "Why?"

"I'm treating you to burgers and taking you to see the new Narnia movie."

Wally snorted. "Says you."

"Mm-hmm," she said defiantly, showing up in his peripheral vision with her arms crossed and her bright gray eyes narrowed in that way that made it clear she wasn't about to budge. "You're going to eat as many burgers as you want, and we're going to catch a matinee, and I know you want to see this flick because I heard you talking to M'gann and Zatanna about it yesterday, and we both know how you love  _heartfelt movies_."

"Over my dead body, Artemis," he said lazily, finger still clicking through the channels. "What makes you think I want to do anything with you?"

"Come on," she groaned, sitting on the armrest of his chair and leaning over, blocking his view of the screen. "Everyone else is at least tolerating me by now, but you've been mad at me all week. We're teammates. We need to work things out. And again,  _I'm paying_."

_Well, I never was one to turn down free food…_

"… My ability to eat the American hamburger isn't something to joke about, you know. Believe me. Not even  _I_ would want to pay to fill myself," he cautiously warned, not breaking eye contact with the archer in his face.

"It won't be a problem. I want—I  _need_  to make it up to you. To talk."

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 11, 13:57 CST**

Mike's Stand. Great local hotspot, perfect eatery for the solo lunch, the family gathering, the buddy hangout, or even the date.

_Was this a date? Well, you are eating with a girl. But Artemis asked you out, does that count? But she still had to beg you, you don't like her right now, it's not exactly a happy gathering, so… probably not… Nah. At best this is an apology meal._

They sat down in a booth near a corner of the restaurant and started eating their burgers in silence. Wally stared at Artemis. Artemis stared back. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

Artemis caved first. "Well, spit it out."

Wally swallowed his mouthful of beef and bun and shoved more fries in. "Spit what out?"

"Please, you're Wally West. You've always got something to run your trap about _._ "

"Not true!"

"Well, do you?"

Wally looked at her, finally dropping his second burger down onto his plate with emphasis. "Yeah. Fine. So you're right. I'm still pretty pissed off.  _And I should be_. We could've all been killed because you wouldn't communicate!"

"And?"

"And despite four of us,  _trained_  fighters, against two of them, we still lost. Had Aqualad and I been clued in from the start on your little  _shindig_  with the enemy _,_  I probably could have run in at full speed and interrupted the bad guys in whatever they were doing. I ain't saying you're the reason we accomplished nothing... but you  _are_ the reason we accomplished nothing."

"And?"

"They were made of freaking ice! Can you believe that? Us, an elite force of super-skilled or super-powered beings, lost to  _freaking ice sculptures!"_  They received peculiar looks from around the restaurant, and Wally sheepishly ducked his head. "We lost to ice sculptures, Artemis," he repeated in a fierce whisper. " _Ice sculptures!_  That's so far beyond embarrassing, it's hilarious. _"_

"And?"

"And… and…. and, what is this? A soap opera? What more do you want from me, Artemis?" He sucked Dr Pepper with vehemence through a straw, glaring at her over the edge of the cup.

"We both know there's something else." Artemis traced her fry through the ketchup on her plate in an attempt to seem nonchalant, but there was that tiny furrow between her eyebrows that told Wally she was upset beneath that aloof façade.  _Whoa, stalker alert! You've been staring at this chick way too much lately. Look at something else._

Wally stared out the window next to their booth, watching pedestrians pass by with their thick winter coats and giant snowboots, cars zooming down the well-shoveled-and-salted Main Street just beyond the sidewalk. December in Central City was always nice. The already happy town was in extra high holiday spirits, and the approaching vacations for students and many workers hailed the promise of a couple weeks in relaxation. The good cheer seemed to emanate from the essence of the metropolis itself.

Exhaling against the glass and drawing the Flash logo in the fog left behind, Wally finally muttered, "You didn't trust me." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before meeting Artemis's expectant gray gaze. "You want to know why I'm mad? It's because I explicitly told you on the Bioship early on that you had nothing to prove. You didn't have anything to be nervous about, because  _I already trusted you,_ Artemis. When we first met, I had my doubts, sure, and then you made it clear that there was nothing to be doubtful about. With you, I'm not a skeptic anymore. At all. I totally believe in you and all of the incredible things you're capable of, just like I believe that Robin can land a quintuple backflip off a diving board and that Zatanna can recite thirteen different Shakespearean plays entirely by heart  _backwards_ , and yet… yet you still didn't trust me. Why?"

Artemis raised her eyebrows at the praise and hurt in his tone of voice, her gaze darting down to her food on her plate. "I… I don't know. I guess I'm not used to people trusting me. I mean… it's one thing to  _say_  stuff like that, Wally, but…" She sighed and shook her head cynically. "When you're someone like me, trust is kind of a foreign concept in practice. It's dangerous."

Wally frowned, picking sesame seeds off his burger bun as he said, "It shouldn't be, Artemis. I guess… I mean, I already gathered that we come from very different backgrounds. Don't worry, you're entitled to your privacy. I'm no miner, I ain't going digging," he put his hands up placatingly in response to her glare, "but you certainly didn't grow up in Central City with Barry Allen for an uncle and mentor. Not that it's a  _bad_  thing, but I'm just saying… being a Flash, 'trust' is kinda in the job description. Anything outside of that, keeping secrets? Especially secrets about mistakes? Those are dangerous."

_Yeah, dangerous secrets, trust and mistrust… I'm learning that lesson the hard way through experience at the moment._

"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is…" Wally grimaced and rubbed his forehead with a groan. ' _Man up, West,'_ he could practically hear Coach Matthews saying. "I'm sorry. I was way too hard on you for making a mistake - one that every one of us has made at this point - and I don't know you and your whole story entirely. And based on my frankly wrong assumptions, I was expecting things that… I guess I was expecting too much 'trust' on the first try. I... seem to be doing that with everybody lately." He shrugged, mouth turning up into a bitter smile. "I was distracted and tired and fed up and I snapped, and that wasn't fair to you. Can you... um, can you forgive me?"

_Well. That was… sappy as heck, geez..._

But Artemis seemed to appreciate it. She swallowed and nodded a little before saying, "I was wrong, too. This Team is… well, it's the best family I've had in, well, maybe ever. I just really don't want to screw things up, don't want to be replaced, and... I let my fear get the better of me. I haven't been exactly open or  _generous_  with my trust since the beginning, but all of you – and especially you – have made it crystal clear that I'm being insecure for no good reason." She inhaled and raised her chin, laying down an ultimatum. "If you give me another chance, to work on trusting and communicating more, to be a better Teammate, then… we can call it even. Deal?"

Ignoring that random and irrational heart palpitation that had entirely  _nothing_  to do with the gentle curve of Artemis's jawline at all, Wally grinned and crossed his arms. "Deal."

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 11, 23:16 CST**

Barry looked up from his book on the couch to see Wally enter through the door wordlessly with a fairly neutral expression, hang up his coat, scarf and gloves on some hooks, and walk straight toward the kitchen. With a smile, Barry asked, "Where have you been all day? At Dick's?"

"Nope," Wally said simply, popping the 'p' with a little bit of swagger. He handed Barry a twenty dollar bill as he passed by, flashing an enormous grin for a split second before hiding it again behind his cool external demeanor.

Barry looked at the money with confusion. "What's this?"

"The bet," Wally answered, disappearing around the corner into the kitchen.

It took Barry a moment before he got it, and then he wolf whistled playfully to his nephew. "Looks like someone's still got his mojo after all. Where'd you two go?"

"Mike's and the movies."

"Classic. And you paid, or did you two decide to go Dutch?"

"Um…"

There was a pause, and then Barry wordlessly got off the couch, walked to the kitchen, and smacked Wally upside the head.

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 17, 11:01 CST**

"Grades will be posted in the online forum in two days," Tish Hasbrouck called to the students leaving her classroom. "Email me if you have any questions or want to review your score."

What was it about teachers that compelled them to make final exams unnecessarily difficult? Did they  _want_ their students to forever remember them as demon spawn? Wally had been asking himself that for years, and asked it again as he stumbled out of Ms. Hasbrouck's classroom, stunned after that monster of a chemistry test. He rubbed his eyes and saw nothing but formulas. Not good. He had a math final in ten minutes.

After sneaking a brain snack in the sanctuary of his locker, Wally turned around to bump into Principal Donner, of all people. "Oh. Hi, sir."

"Wally," the older man nodded with a smile. "Where are you off to?"

Wally cocked his head. "Um, the math wing. Have an exam."

"Excellent. Mind if I walk with you?"

_And the weirdness just keeps coming._  "Uh, no, I don't mind. By… all means…"

The other students in the hallway gave them suspicious looks that made Wally shudder, but the principal didn't seem fazed. "You know, Wally," he said conversationally, nodding and smiling at various teachers and students. "I've been thinking a lot about our little... discovery."  _Oh._

_Oh no._

_Crap._

_It's back._

"C-can we not talk about that now?" Wally whispered, eyes wide and mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

"Oh, it'll only take a second, really," Donner said, sounding happy as a clam. Great. "You see, my daughters are delighted to hear about the work that you do—"

Wally felt like he'd turned to ice just like Cheshire had, and froze in his tracks, gaping at the principal in the middle of the hallway. Irritated students flowed around their obstruction like creekwater around a stone, but he didn't even care.

_Was this it? All those nightmares… were they predicting this exact moment?_

"You. Told. Your.  _Daughters_?" he whispered, and contrary to that exaggerated expression of your heart skipping a beat, Wally felt his go completely still in his chest. (That couldn't be healthy, some remote part of him mused in the back of his mind.)

"Yes, and I thought it would be a lovely idea-"

"No…"

"- to have a little meet-and-greet-"

" _Nooo…."_

"- with them and their classmates-"

"No, nononono, stop!" He inhaled and exhaled, eyes closed as he tried to keep a handle on his volume while still making it clear to this supposed authority figure that this, well, this was basically a major screw up. "You don't know what you're saying. Stop talking." He dragged his fingernails against his scalp and started walking as fast as he could away from Donner He needed to get some distance between himself and this walking signpost intending to share his identity with the world.

Wally tried inhaling again, but choked instead.

He was having a panic attack.

Oh man.

He was having an actual panic attack right now.

Oh man.

Oh no.

No.

No.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

Donner kept pursuing him, calling after him in a voice just soft enough to reach his ears, "It wouldn't be terribly long, Wally, just maybe half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes? They'd love to have pictures of you in your suit, get your autograph, have a little Q&A…"

Wally was gasping for air. He felt like he was being chased in a horror movie; they were making a scene. He needed to find a place to hide and recover before his exam. "Get away from me!" he growled, diving down a side corridor and finding a bathroom. No, not the bathroom, Donner could get in there.

_The nurse's office._  No administrators allowed in the patient rooms.

"… I know my youngest, Kacey, would be especially excited to meet you. She's got her whole school pleading for more information, but feels powerful because only she knows the really juicy secret—"

"Nope! No way! _"_ Wally interjected, heart now beating way too fast to function correctly, legs trembling and stumbling as they carried him away. At this point, he was running as fast as he dared in a civilian environment and burst through the door of the nurse's office. He slammed the door behind him, fingers shaking uncontrollably against the cold wooden surface. His eyes stared through the door window as Principal Donner stopped at the far end of the corridor, before approaching to stand outside the door just beyond the glass.

"… Would any of that be too much to ask, Wally?" The principal had the gall to look disappointed. "Just… just a five minute private meeting with my daugh—"

"Listen to me." Wally snarled through the glass, completely heaving for oxygen, feeling himself unravel and his heart trying to hold the frayed ends of his sanity together long enough to make this perfect clear. "Listen to me, William Donner. What part of 'don't tell anyone, not even your kids' didn't you understand?  _Hm?_ Because what… what you… you've just... This is going to destroy me. It could destroy all of us. And it's all on you. You hear me? I warned you, you promised, and you broke that oath. So if anything happens… to me, to the Flash, to Central City…  _you are responsible._ "

That seemed to finally drill through the wood, and the principal blinked, backing away from the door in a suddenly dazed look of horror. His eye twitching, he turned and progressed quickly down the corridor and back to his office.

Wally stayed there, forehead pressed hard against the wood of the door, before sliding down to his knees. He couldn't breathe. There was no air in his lungs, none. His heart wouldn't slow down, it-it-it wouldn't slow down, his blood was racing, he-he-he-he needed to run, he needed to run this off, the room was a cage-a cage-a cage-a freaking cage, and he needed to escape, to run, he—

A hyperbolic needle suddenly plunged into his neck, making him jump and grab the arm of the attacker with a speed-fueled force that twisted it back hard enough to make its owner cry out in pain. "-ally! Wally, it's me!"

He blinked and looked up to see Nurse Evans there, gritting her teeth and rubbing his back. "It's just me, Wally! I've been calling you for a minute, can you hear me?"

He sucked in a deep breath of air, feeling himself, against all odds, slowly calm down towards normal. "Wha… I… I'm sorry," he breathed, releasing her wrist and leaving behind bright red welts in the shape of a handprint. "I am so sorry. I'm…"

"It's okay, Wally, just breathe—"

"I can't stay here. I'm so sorry, but—"

"Wally, take a deep breath-"

"I can't be here, I—"

"Hush now. Inhale. Exhale," she demanded forcefully. "You need more oxygen."

After a pause, Wally obeyed, feeling his heart slow down more and more… it was a little too slow, actually.

"I gave you a sedative, though really, it's more like that horse tranquilizer you were asking for a month ago. I can't possibly know what dosage might work on _you_ , but I thought this might do the trick. With any luck, you'll go to sleep quickly."

Wally groaned, hugging himself and feeling that ice-cold feeling on his skin again. It was like dread on steroids. "I can't go to sleep. Donner didn't listen, now his kids know."  _I need to place bets with Dick and Roy for how long it'll be before the Dark Knight finds out that the secret's out._ He closed his eyes and slammed his head against the nurse's door behind his back. "Everything's over."

"Don't worry about that now, bucko," Nurse Evans said soothingly, petting his hair and helping him up. Her brown eyes were like melted chocolate, sweet and comforting as she guided him to the back room. "Come over here and lay down. I'll arrange things with your teachers regarding your exams for the day. Just try to relax."

Wally was like a limp noodle, flopping onto the bed helplessly as his heart sank deeper and deeper into his chest.

It was all over.

Daughters.

Small children.

Classmates.

Everyone.

It was done.

_He was done._

* * *

**GOTHAM CITY  
** **December 17, 23:07 EST**

Bruce was lounging in his big chair, eyes scanning over the wall of monitors in the Batcave. He had a hunch something big was going to pop up tonight. A real game changer.

Sure enough, an alert showed up on his screen, and Bruce automatically started dialing Barry on both his direct line and his comms unit without even reading the alert message all the way, instead navigating to the video and watching silently as the phone rang. "Barry? It's me. It's urgent, find a place to talk."

"Oh hey, Bruce..." There was a whir and the closing of the door in the background, and the scarlet speedster asked, "Okay, we're secure. What's up?"

"Satellite cameras picked something up." Barry was quiet on the other end, so Bruce just plowed forward. "Facial recognition got a ping, code red. I'm heightening the resolution now…"

"Is it…"

"… Yes. James Jesse, aka  _Trickster_ , has just resurfaced. He's in Chicago, in front of the Garrett Popcorn Shop on the corner of North State and East Madison."

"On it," Barry said breathlessly, the sudden sounds of the sound barrier shattering in the comms less than one second later. Despite the terse angle in the speedster's voice, Bruce could tell Barry was elated.

"You know, I was honestly getting worried there," Barry laughed after another few seconds. "After a long hiatus, the Rogues are finally back."

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 19, 13:04 CST**

"He's an idiot."

In the locked basement of the Central City town hall, two figures moved about with flashlights and lanterns, conferring quietly amongst themselves. One held a measuring tape while the other wrote down dimensions and notes on a clipboard.

"I figured Trickster would bail once he finally figured out more of the big picture," Mirror Master grumbled, standing to his feet and retracting the measuring tape with a  _snap_. "Fourth radius is fifty-six feet."

"Noted." Captain Boomerang shrugged. "Even if the bugger squeals to the cops or Mr. Fleetfeet, it won't matter. Everything's already been set. Now it's just a matter of waiting for opportunity." He motioned to a box off to the side. "Let's set up the web."

Mirror Master stepped back to stand against the wall and started screwing in reflective material on strategic points marked with duct-taped X's. As he went, Boomerang aimed a laser pointer, mentally measured angles and distances as only he could, and drilled small devices into the wall at relevant points. There was a reason the Rogues made a good team. Their gifts tended to complement each other.

The Aussie cleared his throat and radioed over, continuing, "In any case. Piper, if you pull this off, you get to take that imbecilic clown's place on the Team—"

**YAKUTSK  
** **December 18, 03:06 YAKT (UTC+9)**

"—and that includes a higher pay grade," the accented voice finished, his speech partially muffled by the crackle of static.

The Pied Piper stretched his back, making a popping sound and sighing in satisfaction. "As much as that's appreciated, Boom, I'm fine with the 'payment' already arranged. I don't need money, and like I said before – I don't normally get this involved. It just ain't my style."

To his right, Captain Cold grunted in affirmation. "Nevertheless, we'll keep you on 'speed dial,' so to speak. You do good work, Piper, and you have tremendous potential. You're young and a bit rough around the edges, but with more practice, you will approach perfection."

"... Thanks."

Across the planet, the two remaining figures of the Rogues' team, clothed in thick coats and large winter boots, were inspecting a warehouse facility in Yakutsk, Russia. Thanks to a stereo playing hypnotic tunes of the Pied Piper's design, teams of well-built workers were rolling in supplies and equipment in large boxes, lifting and installing devices around the building according to Captain Cold's instructions.

One particularly enormous package was wheeled in on a hand truck, driven by two especially burly Russian workers. They asked something in their native tongue, and Cold responded in kind, gesturing to a designated wall marked by several strips of reflective tape. They unpacked the package's contents and began setting it up, but Cold stepped forward.

_No, vertical_ , he commanded in Russian.  _It should be vertical against the wall, with the glass viewing pane facing the interior of the room. And two meters to the left._

The men nodded and adjusted. Cold coordinated the workers like a conductor with an orchestra, while muttering over his radio to his three colleagues. "Practice makes perfect. The Flash, and Baby Flash, will soon understand this concept in application."

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
** **December 20, 02:00 EST**

"Alright Team, let's load up and head out while the weather's good."

Dick watched the others load crates and boxes into the cargo hold of the Bioship while checking his gauntlet for frequent updates from Interpol. The Team was going to fly to Europe, for the purpose of investigating Haly's Circus under the guise of the Dangers, a supposedly world-renowned acrobatics troupe. Dick would be lying if he said he wasn't excited to be back in his original element – and impatient to find out what was really going on. He'd wanted to make this move for weeks now, but the moment had to be just right. Winter break had finally come, and the Team roster for this mission had been… carefully selected.

Everything was set. It had just been a matter of waiting for opportunity.

"Is Wally on his way?" M'gann asked sleepily while leaning against Conner's shoulder for support, evidently not a 2 o'clock in the morning person.

"He's… busy. He'll be sitting this mission out."

Robin watched the others as they loaded supplies and equipment onto the Bioship, jumping when Roy placed his hand on his shoulder. "You good?" the archer asked, his brow creased into its typical scowl of concern and focus.

"I'm fine, Harper."

"You know what we talked about-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm taking that into account. I've just got… one last thing to do. Final step, really," Dick exhaled, and Roy nodded in understanding.

"Well, get a move on. I'll see you onboard."

"Right."

Dick locked himself in his room, adjusting the settings and arranging everything to cascade according to the lines of computer code and algorithms he'd spent days painstakingly writing and debugging. Everything had to work according to schedule. Timing was key. With a final keystroke of ENTER, sending the coding cascade toward its destination, Dick nodded to himself, ignoring all internal feelings of apprehension. What's done was already done. Events were about to play out now which were well beyond his control.

All he could do was… hold on for the ride.

And do his best to mend broken fences as soon as he mowed them down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So, lots of stuff happened here! Next chapter (Cascade, Part 3) will be the end of Part Two of this story, and the point where this story will really get going. I'm pretty excited, because I've been planning and waiting for the final Part Three of this story for over a year now. Hope you guys enjoy it! Leave a review if you'd like – got any predictions for Wally, Hartley, Dick, or the Rogues? Have any likes/dislikes about this chapter? I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> NEXT, ON OUTLIER.
> 
> Our reality ascribes to numerous laws regarding consequences.  
> What goes up, must come down.  
> Anything that can happen, will happen.  
> Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
> 
> Several tipping points have triggered a cascade, and Wally is about to find out first-hand that not even Kid Flash can outrun the laws of consequences.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie


	17. Cascade, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Thanks so much for the reviews and follows and favorites! Now that college courses are underway, here comes the next chapter.
> 
> The events in this chapter align partially with YJ EPISODE 24: "PERFORMANCE." Hope you all enjoy this one!
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~ Iron Woobie

_Our reality ascribes to numerous laws regarding consequences. What goes up, must come down. Anything that can happen, will happen. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction._

_Simple physics._

_Everything up to now has been the mere calm before the storm, and Wally, and everyone around him, feels it. But there's no more waiting now._

_The storm has come._

**17**

**CASCADE, PART THREE**

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 20, 09:00 CST**

There was only one possible reason why the front doors to Central City High would be unlocked after the end of fall term, one reason why the lights were on in the hallways and certain classrooms at nine in the morning, one reason why the sneakered footsteps of a sixteen-year-old ginger echoed through the corridors in eerie solitude.

Cracking his knuckles with a groan, Wally trudged his way through the institution with begrudging purpose, backpack on and impatience coursing full-force through his veins.

Two words.

Makeup. Exam.

Yep, it turns out that having the nurse's support for missing a final exam due to medical circumstances was the difference maker between passing and failing a course after the deadline. Wally thanked the heavens for Nurse Evans (hey, that rhymed!), who'd set things up with Mr. Boyd to have Wally take his math exam after the weekend. So on the plus side, he'd just go ahead and ace the test and finally close the door on this nervous wreck of a semester.

On the downside, he still had to go school to take a test during  _Christmas break_. Because there really couldn't have been  _anything_  better to do with his time, right?

While he wasn't currently in the midst of a full-out nervous breakdown at that very moment, that didn't mean he was anywhere close to baseline normality. Nor should he be, knowing that his very lifeline had just been frayed like a flimsy piece of string, and the Dark Knight was like an anvil tied to the string, bound to drop and crush Wally beneath the weight of its spooky-Batglare at any time.

It was inevitable. The least he could do was handle his affairs while he still had the freedom to do so. Wally slipped into classroom B209, nodding and mumbling a quiet "Good morning" to the test proctor, Ms. Small, and turned his head to find a comfortable seat in which he'd spend the duration of the test.

He froze midstep.

Seated right there, in the middle of the room, was none other than Hartley Rathaway. Who was staring at him, face turning a humorous shade of red, mouth slightly agape. "What are you doing here?" he mumbled, as Wally approached and sat down next to him.

"Had an emergency, missed my math final on Friday… just like you apparently." After some hesitation, Wally dropped his backpack to the floor, digging out his pencils and erasers and dumping them on his desk with small, jerky movements that betrayed his skittishness. "In fact, you weren't in school all week. You must have a crap-ton of makeups, huh?" he asked, hesitantly.

With a sullen shrug, Hartley replied, "Eh. I'm a musician, I was… I was competing last week. In Russia. Moscow, St. Petersburg, ad nauseam... I had, like, one paper and this test, but I already finished my other six final performances last month."

"Lucky." Wally sharpened his pencil to do something with his hands, squirming a bit in the silence. Clearly, neither of them had forgotten the recent rift in their friendship, and he really wasn't in the mood to spend two hours in a room with a guy this unpredictable.

And people said  _Wally_ was a loose cannon...

After a minute, he decided to really test the waters. "I-If I speak to you, are you just gonna go Mayweather on my sorry little self?" Wally said under his breath, peering at Hartley through his peripherals.

Hartley didn't say anything for a long time. As the teacher loudly chalked up start and stop times on the board, he finally replied with his eyes closed, "Nah, man. Pacquiao." And though he didn't seem to want to, the redheaded flutist finally gave up a small smile, not looking up from his exam booklet as he bubbled in the corresponding letters to his name.

"Oh, I see. Makes sense." Wally grinned, scribbling in his own information with a flourish. "You got a mean right hook, after all."

Stifling a laugh, Hartley shook his head and tapped his forehead with the eraser on his pencil. "Freakin' unbelievable," he mumbled to himself. Finally looking over at Wally with blue eyes that seemed darker with some bizarre emotion Wally couldn't quite place, he sighed, "You just don't give up, do you?"

"Nope." Wally leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles again with a very serious look on his face. "Sure don't. Part of my charm."

"You can begin your test," Ms. Small snapped from the front of the room, clearly not happy to be stuck with two slackers on the week of Christmas. "I'd ask you to shut up, but with you two, I know it's pointless."

"You don't care about… cheating?" Wally asked, puzzled.

"Frankly, I'm doing lazy Boyd a favor by subbing in for him today - you may be my students, but this isn't my class." With narrowed eyes, the teacher threw her arms out wide. "Take a look at all the cares I have to give. Notice that  _there are none._  Don't burn the place down, and we don't have a problem. Capiche?"

Hartley cleared his throat. "Reading you loud and clear, ma'am." He hid a smirk, spinning his pencil around his fingers like a baton.

With an extremely long sigh, she sat down and turned her gaze to her book, tuning out the boys with a pair of earbuds. And just like that, it seemed that they had the room to themselves. Wally scribbled in his margins, multiplying out a few numbers and plugging them into formulas, but his hand was moving on autopilot. His attention was mostly tuned to the fellow redhead to his right.

For Hartley, it was entirely impossible to focus on this test with  _him_  sitting right there. His own face felt like it was on fire, but why, he could only guess. Surprise at seeing the other ginger, and in one of the most unlikely places for any self-respecting teenager to be on the first Monday of Holiday Break no less? Anger for being put in this situation despite his best attempts to avoid the guy for the past several days by flying to a  _completely different continent_? Embarrassment for totally assaulting him in a tense moment of weakness a while back, and having yet to apologize, (which makes Hartley look like the bad guy - on top of just being one on the inside)?

_Or… something else?_

Point being, taking some dumb geometry test that was hardly Hartley's strong suit on the best of days alongside Wally, who was breezing through his advanced calculus exam with an enviable look of boredom, was killing him. Even though they had 'permission' to speak freely, it was still silent enough that you could hear a pin drop. Hartley couldn't concentrate.

Excellent. Just…. perfect.

* * *

 **GOTHAM CITY**  
December 20, 11:03 EST

The Batcave was a sanctuary for heroic business. It functioned as a garage for the Batmobile and other forms of Bat-transportation, an office, a security booth, a library, a laboratory and even a medical clinic. It was a place where important things got done on a daily basis.

But that said, Bruce figured it didn't hurt to add a little Christmas tree in the corner. Just a tad of tinsel and holly here and there, to... spruce up the place.

Though, Dick wasn't around at the moment to help with the decorations. He said he and some friends were going to take a few days to have fun in Europe, and he requested that Bruce not track them like a 'hover dad'. Whatever that meant.

Didn't matter. Bruce had other things to occupy his time, anyways. Just before he was about to head above ground for lunch with Alfred, Bruce received an alert on the computer, the  _ping_  from the speaker sending tiny echoes throughout the Batcave.

It wasn't particularly flashy. An understated font against a pale grey background, an accompanying photograph with a caption. Standard formatting for a hot tip from the 'outside'. (One couldn't solely rely on video cameras and hidden microphones to get the latest information, after all. People still served a purpose, even in the modern day and age.

He read the message in the alert. Then he reread it. And read it again for a third time. It took him a moment to digest what this meant, and another moment to really believe it.

Any other person would have started to panic and tell everyone they knew to get out of the field and find shelter.

But he was Batman. There was always a plan, there were always contingencies, and there was always a prepared response. And it wasn't as if this was the first time they'd had this sort of problem. He pulled up a small phone directory on another monitor, eyes not leaving the alert as it floated there in the center of the main screen. The sound of a dialing phone filled the chamber of the Batcave, bouncing ominously against the walls, but three rings in, a young man picked up.

"Lucas Carr," the voice droned, sounding a bit bored.

"It's me."

"Bruce! Long time since our last chat. What's up?"

Bruce wasted no time. "Snapper, we're calling you in."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and then in the background, Bruce could hear a man saying, "Uh, hey, Allison, there's an emergency, and I'm flying out right now. Don't wait up for me!" After some shuffling, the man's voice reappeared on the line. "I'm heading to the airport. Where am I flying to?"

"Central City, Missouri."

The voice sucked air in through his teeth. "... Gotcha. Is it Barry… or the kid?"

Through gritted teeth, Bruce replied, "What do you think, Carr?"

The voice exhaled. "Figures... So, what's the damage?"

"Based on the tip, we're talking Scale Nine, but we'll need you to find out more."

" _Yeesh_. I'm on it. Text me the info, I'm entering the airport now."

As the line clicked, Bruce sat back in his chair and rubbed his face. He couldn't tell Barry yet - they had to assess the situation first before they alerted anyone in the League. He couldn't do much at the moment, but he did reach out to Clark and Diana to brief them, and he began tracking Barry and Wally to monitor their whereabouts. All the monitors were concentrated on Central City. All eyes and ears were on America's Golden Town. But there was little more he could do for the time being.

For now, it was a waiting game, yet there was one other thing Bruce knew for certain.

_Heads will roll._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 20, 11:05 CST**

"And... time," Ms. Small announced when the two hours were up, and Wally and Hartley stood and walked solemnly to the front of the classroom. Wally had actually finished his test in the first thirty minutes, but played along like it took him the full time allotted - partly so Hartley wouldn't feel rushed or stupid, and partly because he wanted to hang out with him after the testing period was over.

The teacher accepted the packets with a begrudging "have a good break," and the three individuals parted ways as fast as possible.

Wally and Hartley found themselves walking side by side for no real reason. Wally knew he had about another couple hours or so to kill before he had to start running to meet up with Uncle Barry, and Hartley didn't have much in terms of plans for the break… at least, not until 'game time.'

The flutist had to restrain from bursting out in hysterical laughter, because fate had put him in yet another undesirable position that he just could  _not_  escape from, no matter how hard he tried.

That position of being the friend of a certain Wally West.

"Are you following me?" Hartley asked, stretching his arms above his head with a slight  _pop_.

"Eh, not really," Wally mumbled, hands in the pockets of his coat with a calm, placid expression on his face. "We just happen to be walking in the same direction. Side-by-side, not following."

"Towards  _my_ house?"

"Huh. Guess so." Wally raised his eyebrows and a brief grin flashed across his freckled face, making Hartley's face turn red again.

"And  _who_  invited you, exactly?"

"Uh, you did? Seven months and twelve days ago, and I quote: 'come over to my place sometime after school - I'll kick your butt at Mario Kart and make you cry like a baby.'" His green eyes danced with mischief and Hartley stared at him, his hands curling into fists at his side.

"... You serious? You'd just creamed me at Monopoly in the library on a rainy day. I was joking-"

"Uh-uh," Wally shook his head, cutting in. "Bro code, dude. You don't joke about Mario Kart. It's in the book."

Hartley didn't know what to say, so against his better sense, he went with it. They walked wordlessly down streets and crossed intersections. Hartley wanted to ask how Wally seemed to know this area of the city so well considering he lived in a completely different zone. Wally wanted to ask Hartley why he shivered as they passed a small neighborhood park where he'd coincidentally had a less-than-fun run-in with a wall and the Pied Piper weeks ago.

Neither of them dared to voice their questions, for reasons they couldn't quite put a finger on.

Hartley led the way up the curving driveway to his mansion, unlocking the front door and holding it open for Wally to enter into the foyer, jerking back as the shorter ginger's sleeve brushed against him. Wally didn't seem to notice - he looked distracted, actually, and didn't gape and awe at the chandeliers and marble flooring inside Hartley's home as most visitors did. As if he'd been in such a place before - and often.

"So, yeah," Hartley breathed, gesturing vaguely to the towering ceilings and gold-accented balconies and staircases adorning the main room. A fire was roaring in a gas fireplace against a wall, casting dancing golden shapes on the suede couches arranged tastefully in the room. Corridors branched out in all four cardinal directions, each leading to a wing of the mansion chock-full of sub-corridors, closets and more rooms. "Welcome to Rathaway Manor, palace supreme," he said wearily, sarcastically. Nervously.

"It's… real nice," Wally nodded eventually, mustering up a small curling of his mouth in something like a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "Really… really nice place, man."

They stood like that for a second, the warmth from inside the house melting the snow off their boots and into the rug laid out in the foyer for exactly that purpose. Hartley couldn't meet his guest's eyes, while Wally couldn't manage to pull his gaze away from Hartley.

"So… this is a bit awkward," Wally finally said, a slight edge tinging his voice.

"Only if you say it is," Hartley lamely retorted with a shrug.

Wally snorted. "Whatever man, you gonna show me around, or should we just keep standing here like a couple of star-crossed lovers on the edge of a destined cliff?"

Hartley frowned and blustered, "Sh-shut up. Shoes off, follow me."

The two redheads crossed the room and ascended a spiral staircase to the second floor. Hartley showed Wally the parlor, the sitting room, the gym, his father's office - or at least the door of it - and eventually led him to the bedrooms. Wally inwardly noted the differences in layout from Dick and Roy's respective homes - this mansion seemed to focus more on aesthetics and décor than architectural strategy, as the Rathaways had clearly invested in expensive Renaissance paintings and Ming-era vases over… y'know.

Batcaves.

Armories.

Subterranean lairs for storing choppers and motorcycles and fighter jets and Batmobiles.

Which made sense.

"And what's that?" Wally pointed, indicating a room with the door slightly ajar that was pitch black inside. Hartley seemed frozen, but didn't make a move to stop Wally. Curious, he turned on the light switch inside, illuminating what appeared to be the bedroom of an elementary-aged girl. Pink blankets lay on a small bunk bed, the bottom of which was covered in stuffed animals that seemed more appropriate for a small infant than your average fourth or fifth grader.  _My Little Pony_  posters decorated the walls, and little purple sneakers fit for a toddler sat perfectly aligned against the wall. They looked like they'd never been worn.

In short? It was cute, in a more-than-slightly creepy way.

"You… um…" Wally bit his lip, turning his head to exchange a glance with Hartley who seemed to be looking past him at something in the room. "You've got a little sister. 'Her,' right?"

Not the wisest subject to bring up, since Hartley hated talking about his family even when he and Wally were on good terms - and right now didn't exactly qualify. Yet Wally was nothing if not persistent and curious. "How old is she?" he pressed.

"Ten. Turning eleven in January."

"What's… what's her name?"

"Jerrie. Her name is Jerrie. We done here?" Hartley rolled his jaw, closing his eyes and crossing his arms. He turned and walked away from Wally heading down the hallway without another word. Wally hurriedly switched off the light to the bedroom and closed the door behind him, unknowingly closing the door in the face of an invisible Jerrie who gaped at him as he followed Hartley away.

_Since when did her big brother bring friends over?_

Meanwhile, Hartley methodically set up Mario Kart in his own bedroom, tossing Wally a controller and jumping up on his bed. Wally wondered at the Spartan living conditions of Hartley's room.

Unlike the rest of the house's splendor that took pages from French castles, the teen's bedroom had plain grey walls, a simple cabinet full of trophies with flutes or music notes on them, a single poster of Friedrich Kuhlau over his bed, a desk devoid of anything but a lamp, and a cabinet with a TV. It seemed a mere step above a prison cell, with not a family photo or a fishbowl to be seen.

Not that Wally was into interior design or anything. Just an observation.

"In case you're wondering, I try not to spend too much time in here," Hartley mumbled as he inserted the disk into the console and modulated the volume. "On a good day, I come home to sleep and eat breakfast and dinner, and that's it."

"That's fair," Wally shrugged. It wasn't too far off from his own tendencies - some days he didn't even go back to his parents' house at all, choosing to sleep over at the Allens' instead. "Fan of that nightlife, huh?"

"... Something like that. I call Wario."

"Good, 'cause I'm always Princess Peach," Wally countered with a shameless air of pride. "Always."

After about twenty minutes of the typical trash-talking and spiteful revenge acts typically spawned during a game of Mario Kart between two particularly passionate high school boys, the atmosphere in the room, the tension that had been between them, slowly began to dissipate.

"Hey, man," Wally eventually muttered, even as his fingers pounded a series of buttons making his avatar on screen avoid wiping out. "I know it's been weird between us for a while. But… I don't know about you, but I still consider you my friend."

Hartley snorted sarcastically, stabbing the next button with extra force. "Sure, Wally. What's a few  _punches and kicks_  between men?"

"Sticks and stones, Hartley. I can take anything you throw at me - be it fists or insults or  _a freaking shellgoshdangitno…_  Shoot, good one. Anyways, I can take it as long as we're still cool. So… are we?"

Hartley paused the game and turned to look at Wally with a stone cold stare. "So, I beat you up in the hallway, tell you to leave me alone, only let you in my house because I invited you in  _May_ … At best, I've tolerated you, and you think that after ten minutes of Mario Kart, you've got the go-ahead to ask me if we're 'still cool', because it's 'bro code' that you 'don't joke about Mario Kart'? That's what you're going with?" He grit his teeth and rolled his shoulders. "You're not too good at reading between the lines, are you?"

Wally looked at him with a similar stare, just lacking the jaded edge to it. He seemed more tired than anything, and there wasn't a tone of desperation or anger or sadness in his voice more than there was just a baseline firmness to it. "People have bad days. People have bad weeks, bad months, even. Makes it easy to lash out and/or blame the nearest person to you… Who am I to judge you at your worst, when I remember when we've been at our best?" He blinked, leaning back on his hands with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe things are a little weird 'between the lines' right now, but they don't have to stay that way. I don't hold grudges, Hartley. Never have."

Crossing his arms and leaning on his knees, Hartley looked away with a frown - the only expression he could muster that could conceal the fact that Wally was unknowingly tearing him apart from the inside. More so out of a sense of duty, and maybe a touch of pity for his naive yet well-meaning best friend - though he didn't deserve to call Wally that at this point - Hartley finally nodded, turning his gaze back to the other ginger in the room with a smile that by some miracle was genuine, even as he shriveled up behind it. "Yeah, man. We're cool."

_But I don't think you should want me as a friend, Wally. If only you knew._

Even after they returned to the game, Hartley found himself watching Wally out of the corner of his eye more than the screen, taking in those eyes that still seemed dull with fatigue and worry even as they darted across the screen with a spark of competitive spirit. Wally's shoulders seemed to sag, and he leaned forward over his controller like it was bracing him from just collapsing face-down on Hartley's carpet. Even his hair, normally bright red, spiky and moving with a life of its own, seemed a few shades darker and less animated, relaxed closer his head.

This guy really needed a holiday.

While he'd been wallowing in a ravine of self-pity for his own situation, Hartley's train of thought, against all odds, began to wonder what Wally's past few weeks had been like, even beyond the whole boomerang-in-the-arm injury. How was Kid Flash doing these days?

Because, as hard as this upcoming break was going to be for Hartley, he knew Wally was going to have it worse, thanks to his own handiwork.

So bad, it might kill the speedster if push came to shove.

And that thought made him feel sick inside. Here he was,  _playing_  with a guy he was dooming to his downfall, laughing and making memories like nothing was wrong. He knew that Wally was about to suffer the consequences of his own actions, and yet… here they were. It didn't make any sense to someone on the outside.

But after all, Wally didn't know Hartley's secret identity. The knowledge of their double lives wasn't mutual. With any luck, if things stayed that way, there was a small chance of a future where they'd still be friends. In a sick, twisted way that relied on Hartley not crumbling under the knowledge of his own guilt, that is.

It was so screwed up. Unbelievably disgusting and wrong. Hartley had accepted that he was going to hell for this. So why not just make the most of the time they had left?

* * *

 **CHICAGO  
** **December 20, 15:56 CST**

"Okay, okay, how about this one? A barber, a high school swim coach, and Superman walk into a Wal-mart-"

"Ugh, stop. Just stop, James.  _Please_ , I'm begging you. Plead the Fifth, for your own sake."

The Flash ran his hands over his cowled face with a groan, leaning back in his chair in the interrogation room across from the handcuffed clown. Trickster had his trademark goofy grin on his face, which faded as the Flash discouraged him from practicing his stand-up.

"Aww, but this one's really good, I swear! Made Weather Wizard snicker last month - that's gotta count for something! The guy doesn't even smile on his own birthday!" he pleaded hopefully.

"You need to shut the heck up," Kid Flash suddenly snapped, stopping in his frantic pacing back-and-forth behind Flash, his voice echoing against the cold metal walls of the room. Trickster seemed to wilt, looking dismayed as Wally glared at him with disdain. "I don't care if it makes freaking  _Batman_  roll over on the floor in a helpless fit of giggles, you need to take all your wise-cracking and smart-aleck gags and  _shove 'em up your-"_

"-Kid, how about we take a walk, get some air?" Flash quickly suggested, rising from his chair and placing a gloved hand on Wally's shoulder leading him to the door. "We'll be back in ten, James. In the meantime, take a deep breath, organize your thoughts as best you can, and be prepared to have an honest conversation with us."

"No promises!" Trickster gleefully waved as well as he could with his wrists shackled to the table.

Outside of the Chicago PD headquarters, Wally exhaled, grumbling to his mentor impatiently, "He's toying with us, Uncle Barry. In every sense of the word. He should have cracked thirty seconds in, but he's telling us knock-knock jokes and making fart noises instead of sharing anything useful!"

"Deep breath, Kid," Barry mumbled, head back as he looked at the overcast sky. "We've only been at this fifteen minutes, and he's not an Einstein, but he is a Rogue. It's always a matter of strategy rather than raw intelligence with them."

"But, again, this is  _Trickster._ He's not exactly 'world-renowned' for either of those attributes."

"Oh, he'll give in. You know it, I know it, and he really knows it. What am I always telling you, Kid?"

"'Watch where you're going?' 'Double-knot your shoelaces?' 'Don't eat yellow snow?' You tell me a lot!" Wally threw his hands up in exasperation.

Barry gave him a halfway-playful punch in the shoulder, shoving Wally off balance. " _Empathy_ , Kid. Feel empathy with your enemies. You know what Trickster is probably feeling right now?" The scarlet speedster turned and regarded his nephew with narrowed white eyes behind his cowl. "A lot, but to put a word to it, it's probably fear. Think: he just defected from his friends and colleagues, emerged and got himself caught not long after, was easily detained by his arch-nemeses while stuffing kettle corn in his mouth, and is now being pressured to sell out those very same friends he was with this time last week. How would  _you_  take a week like that?"

"Oh come on, he  _wants_  to sell them out," Wally objected, shaking his head and letting his hair fly around in the freezing Chicago wind. "He pretty much served himself to us on a silver platter, knowing we're after him and his buddies - I can't exactly 'empathize' with someone who's willing to just…" He trailed off, ducking his head and crossing his arms with a scowl.

Barry was nothing if not intuitive. "Someone willing to… what?"

"Nothing." Kid Flash raised his head, the dark look in his eyes returning to the bright-eyed indignation at Trickster's audacity. "So you're just chalking all his antics up to a fear-based coping mechanism meant to delay his inevitable break? Interesting, but I don't see how a freaking  _psych eval_  helps us when-"

"Kid, what's up with you?"

"What… do you mean?" Wally slowed in his steps, gradually turning and eventually spinning around to face Barry who had stopped just behind him. They faced each other in full uniform right there on the sidewalk, traffic zooming by to the side, the December wind creating a noise-vacuum that ensured their privacy. Flash stood there, mouth pressed to a thin horizontal line as he looked at Wally, his eyes doubtlessly disappointed behind the whites in his mask.

"Kid, I'm tired of beating around the bush for weeks. You're negative. You're irritable. You've had a chip on your shoulder, you've got bags under your eyes that have been there since Thanksgiving even though you've made a full recovery, you nearly just cursed out one of the most harmless and well-meaning leads we have in this case... Tell me.  _What is up with you_?" Barry repeated himself, slowly and intentionally, his voice traveling across the twelve-point-five feet between master and apprentice with the tangibility of a rope, coiling around Wally and squeezing him in its expectant grip.

Wally swallowed. "There is nothing going on."  _Deny deny deny..._

"There. That right there." Barry pointed at Wally in a small, casual gesture, head shaking a couple times as he exhaled. "That edge in your voice. The look in your eyes. What?"

Feeling sweat bead on his forehead beneath his own cowl even as the chilly air raised goosebumps down his spine, Wally insisted with an underlying tone of desperation, "There's nothing wrong with my voice-"

"Kid."

And that did it. 'Kid.' That three-letter honorific that no one but Uncle Barry had the right to call Wally, a name that encompassed everything about their relationship - as Flash and Kid Flash, as uncle and nephew, as mentor and pupil… as friends. Barry was the Obi-Wan to Wally's Luke, the Mr. Miyagi to his Karate Kid.

"Kid." When Barry said that, his voice lowering in both pitch and volume, it resonated with Wally. No… it  _hit_ him. Like a super-speed punch to the gut. There was so much that only Wally could read in his mentor's voice, so many meanings wrapped around in that single word uttered by the Flash.

" _Kid_ ," Barry said, taking a step forward, then another, ultimately standing before him and looking down at him with his hands on his shoulders, the weight of his hands dragging on Wally like twin dumbbells that pinned him down where he stood.  _"_ We both know. You've always been a terrible liar. So…  _why are you lying to me now?"_

For a long time, there was only silence.

"I-I… I..." Wally tried, biting his lip and pulling away from Barry's grasp on his shoulders, feeling his gut twisting painfully as every fiber of his being wanted to unload  _everything_. The exposure. The promises. The risks. Donner's reveal. The ultimate demise of the entire Justice League that was yet to come.

The fact that the only reason he was here with Barry interrogating Trickster was for one last hoorah before the ball dropped sooner or later and the entire  _League_  went up in flames. It was selfish and destructive and not anywhere close to heroic and brave, yet… here they were.

"... I don't have an answer for that, Uncle Barry."

This was all eating him up from the inside.

_I'm no better than Roy. Dick. Hartley. Artemis. I give them a hard time for not talking to me, not sharing their secrets, but I'm the hypocrite. I've endangered the one person I supposedly care about the most, Uncle Barry of all people, and I won't even tell him what's wrong, what might get him killed._

_I'm not a coward, I'm not chicken, I'm worse..._

_I. Am. Dirt._

_I'm just a clump of crappy dirt._

_We're all going to die, and it's my fault, because I am dirt._

Barry looked down at his nephew as the teen's face contorted into an expression of complete guilt and self-loathing, his voice breaking into a stutter and a sigh of defeat. It made Barry's skin crawl, his spine locked as if encased in ice, and he involuntarily shivered in foreboding. He was no telepath, but he knew his nephew and could tell the kind of thoughts running around in the ginger's noggin.

Wally was in trouble. And he was  _refusing_  to tell him about it. And that made Barry tense his jaw and reach out again, grabbing his nephew's too-stiff shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Wally seemed limp, not responsive at all, and Barry ruffled his nephew's hair with a worried hand, the entire setup being a throwback to when Wally was six and Barry was still a low-level lab employee and grad school student.

"Kid, just tell me. Please, just tell me. Whatever hole you've managed to land yourself in, whoever's threatening you, anything it is, you can tell  _me_. And you know me - I won't get mad, I can help you with whatever's going on, but I need to  _know_."

The ginger teen was shaking a little bit, and Barry closed his eyes, resting his chin on Wally's head. They stood there for a minute, Wally's mouth opening but words refusing to leave his lungs, and Barry finally clapped his partner on the back, giving a helpless shrug that made his own gut twist in anxiety that he  _couldn't do anything._

"Okay. Okay," he found himself muttering, unable to keep the disappointment and frustration out of his voice, his gaze veering off to the side to watch the cars speed by. "You can keep your issues to yourself, Kid. You can take all that stress and fatigue and store it up inside your chest, be stoic and manly like Schwarzenegger himself, and keep running through life on your own. You are independent, Kid, like no one else. You can take all your baggage and run it up to the North Pole, the Sahara, the goshdang Sydney Opera House, whatever. You can take it anywhere, but you can't carry the weight of the world on your own forever. Simple physics, Kid."

He grit his teeth before returning his own warm, concerned gaze towards Wally's glazed, empty green eyes. "Either you drop  _it_ , or it crushes  _you_."

Wally blinked and rubbed his face, not physically tearing up, but pinching the bridge of his nose in self-directed anger and dread. Barry decided to change the subject. "Well, at least the least of our worries is getting intel out of Trickster. I say we go back in and direct attention to the beginning when they were in trial, see if we can draw some questions out of the proceedings and verdict."

"Yeah," Wally quietly said, crossing his arms and rubbing his boot against the salt-and-snow-covered concrete sidewalk. "We have him retrace their steps from the Central-Gotham transit, map it out, follow up with locations. If you want to handle his interview - which I recommend, because at the moment, he's winding me up too easily - I'll go meet with the station's analytics team and look into his purchases, see if we can track down what they've bought over the past month."

"Good thinking," Barry agreed. "Also, start looking for phone records. It may take some digging - we can go to Bats for more resources - but we can at least get started now. We need to find out who the Rogues are talking to, who they're in contact with, what they're talking about."

"Sounds like a plan," Wally whispered, walking back to the headquarters without another word.

Barry looked after him for a moment, placing a fist to his mouth and sagging as his own heart felt crushed beneath burdens of his own.

Knowing that Wally was standing on some sort of landmine that only the sixteen-year-old could identify? Barry couldn't fathom the fact that he hadn't pinned this down earlier. There had been all the signs, the clues, the indications after missions, on patrol, over lunch that something was wrong, but he'd been accepting Wally's dismissive bullcrap like it was top-tier insights. Truth.

What hurt the most was that his nephew didn't trust him. Somewhere along the line, he'd lost that crucial trust from his nephew, that understanding the two speedsters had, and the dangerous part was… Barry didn't know how to get it back.

That meant, no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn't trust Wally in return.

An equal and opposite reaction. Rationality.

Simple physics.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 21, 08:15 CST**

"William Donner."

The middle-aged man in a bright blue tracksuit froze on his jog down 6th Street, spinning in curiosity to scan the surrounding commuters. "Who said that?" He stopped at the sight of a younger man, with brown hair and a goatee dressed in a tan trench coat and sunglasses, who nodded and approached him. The wind carrying flurries of snowflakes enveloped him like a mist, blowing his longcoat around him like a cape.

All in all, it was a distinctive image, one that couldn't have been accidental.

"Mr. Donner, my name is Agent Snapper. I'm an associate with the Justice League and an FBI-appointed protection agent of the U.N. charter authorizing extralegal activity on American soil." He shook hands with the school principal before nodding his head off to the right. "How about we grab some coffee?"

After a pause, a wide-eyed Donner agreed and walked with 'Agent Snapper' to a nearby Starbucks where they found a couple of tall chairs against a counter off in the corner. The League associate took a small sip of his coffee and set it down on the countertop, regarding Will with an appraising look - or at least, he assumed so, given he couldn't see the man's eyes behind those shades.

"So, um…" Donner began, mustering up a professional smile to hide his confusion and anxiety at this unusual encounter. "What would you like to discuss, Agent?"

"Mr. Donner, we have received intelligence that you have managed to obtain information of a sensitive and confidential nature. This classified information regards an active League associate and resident of Central City. I'm sure you know to whom I am referring."

Donner stopped breathing, and a look of horror entered his eyes. "P-please, don't kill me. I've got a wife and kids. It's Christmas. P-p-p-please, please, don't!"

Snapper jumped, startled at the man's sudden descent into hysteria. Darting a glance at the other Starbucks patrons, he leaned forward with a fervent whisper, "Mr. Donner, please, calm down. Again, I'm an associate of the  _Justice League_. We believe in maintaining truth, justice, and freedom, among other values. We are not executioners, and we're not going to kill you, so please get ahold of yourself, man."

After a few deep inhales, Donner straightened up again. "So… what  _are_ you going to do? Knowing that I… know what I know."

"I should explain the context first," Snapper said, his wording prompt and practiced. "You're in education, surely you've heard the statement 'knowledge is power,' Donner. We live in an age where information and knowledge is freely shared on a second-by-second basis. Someone in Tokyo can know of a crisis in Los Angeles within minutes or less. A topic in social media can gain the support of hundreds of thousands of people within hours. There are advantages and disadvantages to the instantaneous nature of information-sharing in the 21st century. You and I are dealing with one of the  _disadvantages_.

"You have managed to obtain information regarding identity, and I am interested in knowing  _how_  you've acquired this information. The more the League knows, the better we can contain and handle this, so that it doesn't reach the knowledge highway and cause repercussions on a larger scale."

Donner stared at him, boldness overcoming anxiety as he stated, "Agent Snapper, with all due respect, we do live in the United States of America... and I don't want to have to pull this card, but there's this little thing called 'freedom of speech', along with another clause in legal proceedings that protects the 'right to remain silent'... I know my rights, and technically, I don't have to tell you anything - and I can tell other people whatever I want. And I don't think the League is into the whole 'erase your memory' or 'mind control', given that it's such a so-called proponent of 'truth, justice, and freedom'... I doubt the League wants to project the image of 'Big Brother' to American citizens. Surely, you agree?"

Snapper met his gaze with an even, unflappable expression of his own, his mouth pressed into a thin line that betrayed no emotion or expression. "You're exactly right. And you know, another wonderful feature of this great nation is something called WITSEC." He raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses, giving a grim smile to the principal, whose face had just turned pale. "That's right. The United States Federal Witness Protection Program.  _That's_ how serious this is. That's how far we're willing to go to protect our values. And your life."

Donner didn't have anything to say, only gaped at Snapper and deflated like an old balloon. The U.N. agent felt some pity, and decided that it was worth it in the long run to establish a more personal connection with this subject to make the conversation go a bit smoother. "Mr. Donner, I understand the position you're in because… I went through something similar to it less than a decade ago." He inhaled and exhaled, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of his chair.

"I was a teen, good with computers and logistics, so I worked a lot closer with the League than I do now. I spent most of my time in the League headquarters, coordinating missions and communications, preparing briefings and debriefings, and generally handling the flow of information among some of the most powerful non-governmental entities in the nation and the world.

"It was a cool job. It was as close to the action as some non-powered civilian kid could get - especially since this was all before the whole 'sidekick' trend that's been picking up recently. I was proud of the work I was doing. Perhaps a little too proud. Pride can easily lead to carelessness.

"There are safeguards built into how the League operates, and I had some input into the setup of those measures. So doubtless, I was to at least partly to blame when the League was compromised in 2006. And while they're strong as ever now, I don't have the same access I did before.

"My life will never be the same - perhaps not to the extent of the Witness Security Program, but… I don't live where I grew up. I don't get to see my friends and family as much as I would like, and when I do, we're under surveillance. I occasionally run errands like this when I'm called upon to do so, but at all other times, my life is observed under a microscope. Rather than working-full time as a League associate, my occupation is that of a high school civics teacher in New England. It's a great job, and I appreciate my students, but I'm not so sure it's worth being denied contact with my parents, my siblings, my nieces and nephews.

"Trust me. You don't want to be the guy that brings down the Justice League." Snapper looked out the window with a small sigh and a touch of regret. "Take it from someone who… who unfortunately has experience in that department."

"... What do you want to know?" Donner finally whispered, taking a long drag of his coffee and likely wishing it was a beverage of a different sort.

"Glad we're on the same page." Snapper pulled out a recording device and began taping their conversation. "For starters, be sure not to state the information itself. That would defeat the purpose of this meeting, wouldn't it? Avoid naming any full names of people or places. If you can give minor descriptions, that will suffice. So, most pertinent, Mr. Donner: who else knows? What's the scale?"

Donner swallowed, finishing off his coffee and unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves as he settled in for a long conversation. "Oh, you're not going to like this..."

* * *

**COAST CITY  
December 22, 14:59 PST**

"Look, Walls. I know I'm a f***ing handsome devil, and it's hard for  _anyone_  to take their eyes off of me, but seriously. Just concentrate on the dot for now."

"Har har, Uncle Hal." Wally rolled his eyes and peered intensely at the dot on the sheet of paper nailed to the post. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight, rubbing at a wrinkle in his Kid Flash uniform as he muttered, "I still don't see how this helps."

"Good, 'cause the only you should be 'seeing' right now is  _the dot_." Behind him, he could hear the Green Lantern flying around and grunting, sounding like he was lifting something heavy. "So, how was the end of your semester? Heard things got a little complicated since your birthday."

"Not the word I'd use but… sure," Wally sighed, eyes almost wandering over to Hal in curiosity before he caught himself. "Uncle Barry filled you in on the whole boomerang thing back at the Feast, right?"

"Right. Weird, never thought Captain Boomie was the type to draw blood - always thought the Aussie was more of a blunt-impact kind of fighter."

"Well, he  _definitely_ drew blood. It feels fine now, but recovering over Thanksgiving wasn't 'fun' per se. Nearly got addicted to my morphine drip."

"Ah, that's the good s***, ain't it."

Wally grinned. "No kidding. Didn't feel a thing."

"So, arm troubles aside, all good? Any… special ladies in your life, Walls?" Hal reappeared in Wally's peripheral, a wicked grin crossing the face of the brunette hero.

"Uh-I mean… well, there's…" Wally stuttered, unsure of how to answer. It wasn't like Artemis was his girlfriend - they hadn't kissed or anything like that. Yet. Maybe… maybe he needed to fix that.

Hal chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes. Clutch the pearls, whatever will your mother say?" he gasped dramatically.

"Don't bring my mom into this, Uncle Hal. You're in possession of very privileged information, don't abuse it."

"Ooo. So it's not 'Facebook official', as the young people say?"

Wally frowned. "You're finally admitting you're not young anymore? Having a mid-life crisis there?"

"Walls, I  _am_  young! There is not a single gray f***ing hair on this heroic head."

"Pfff. Whatever. In any case, how much longer to I have to stare at this dot? Not that it's not absolutely  _riveting_ , but it's no Oscar-winner."

"Cool your jets, zippy. Just a few more seconds. And... there." Hal reappeared, pulling away the paper and turning it into a paper airplane that he flew off in a random direction.

Wally whistled. "Littering. Nice."

"Hey, paper's made from trees. I'm releasing it back into the wild!"

"Not how it works-"

" _Anyways!_ Behold the playground! _"_  Hal gestured grandly to an environment that had previously been the typical landscape of Northern California, but now was filled with old tires, husks of dilapidated cars and trucks, piles of cardboard, plexiglass, and aluminum cans, and were those actually  _dumpsters_?

Wally inhaled and nodded. "It… looks like a landfill. Smells like one, too."

Hal put up a finger, raising his eyebrows. "Correction! It  _is_  a landfill."

"The EPA would  _so_  have your butt."

"Unsurprising, since naturally, everyone wants my butt... But it's okay, we'll clean it up. So back on task! Barry wanted me to help you with your willpower. The end goal is to hone your focus to the point that you can vibrate your molecules through a solid f***ing object, right?" he asked incredulously. "That sounds insane, you do know that, right?"

"I know."

"So, rather than having you run head-first into a  _concrete wall_  - I thought Barry was s***ing me about that, but hospital records don't lie - we're going to have you work with thinner materials. Like sheet metal… wood… etcetera."

Wally thought for a moment, and then wandered over to pick up a two-by-four. "I could karate-chop these, though. Aren't they a little flimsy to work with?"

"Not when they're reinforced with my ring, they're not," Hal said casually, taking the plank from Wally and shaking it in his hand, green light shooting out from his ring and enveloping it in a green force field. He swung it into the frame of an old Ford pickup and sent shards of metal scattering in every direction. "A formidable challenge, yes?" he grinned.

Wally deadpanned, staring at Hal with blank green eyes. "So… your strategy is to make me learn willpower… by having me punch through the shield of you, a Green Lantern, arguably one of  _the most_ willful beings in the universe, let alone on earth… by vibrating at speeds that make my ears ring on a good day… and somehow, I'm expected to overcome  _you_. A full hero in the Justice League and, like, two hundred years my senior.  _That's_  your foolproof plan?"

Hal stared back at him, the gears turning in his head. "... Okay, but that last bit was uncalled for. I'm your uncle's age, after all. Are you willing to tell Barry that he's centuries older than you?" He shook his head. "And what's the point if there's not a bit of challenge? I can lighten up my power level for you to make things a bit more even-"

"But what's the point? Odds are I'm not trying to break through forcefields on a daily basis, I just want to walk through walls. Ordinary, brick-and-mortar, Central City walls." Wally threw his hands up in exasperation. "And if you supposedly have 'tremendous willpower, more than any mere mortal', then how would lowering your power level even be possible? You can't just shake an 'unshakeable will' to handicap yourself for my sake - it either wouldn't work or I'd find it impossible anyways. It's like trying to divide infinity by two. You just can't-"

"Whoa, testy testy. What's got your panties in a wad, Walls?" Hal asked, a hesitant smirk on his face as he ruffled Wally's hair.

Restraining himself from stupidly replying, ' _I'm fine,'_  Wally took a deep breath and said, "It's… been a long few weeks. But you agree, there's gotta be a better way, right?"

"Right… well, midway between a plank of wood and Green Lantern's might would be… Here." Hal pointed at an old Mercedes and set it down in front of Wally so that he was facing the front hood of the rusted car. "On this, you can go wild without fracturing bones, and it'll have enough resistance that you can experiment."

"O… Okay?" Wally stuck his tongue out, reached out, and place one of his hands on the hood. He vibrated a little bit, making a faint buzzing noise, yet… it was far from impressive. "Pathetic."

Hal stood next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, speaking quietly and earnestly for once. "What works for me is to concentrate on something that I really, really care about. Sometimes it's the mission at hand, the high stakes at risk, the knowledge of what'll happen if I fail. Or sometimes it's just a person. Their memory, their words, their importance in my life. It helps to have an anchor.  _Find your anchor, Walls._ "

Hal squeezed Wally's shoulder, and he closed his eyes, flashing back to a few days ago when Uncle Barry had squeezed his shoulders too, but under less cheerful circumstances.

' _Kid. We both know. You've always been a terrible liar. So… why are you lying to me now?'_

' _You can keep your issues to yourself, Kid.'_

' _You can take it anywhere, but you can't carry the weight of the world on your own forever.'_

' _Simple physics, Kid. Either you drop it, or it crushes you.'_

_I._

_Am._

_Dirt._

Hal watched in fascination as Wally's eyes flashed open, burning with intensity that made his irises look like twin halogens of green light almost to the shade of his ring. The teen's hand began to vibrate, pressing with a heavy weight that began to dent the hood of the car.

Wally found his anchor, alright. It was anger.

Anger at his teachers, his classmates and their stupid conspiracy theories that came too close for comfort. Anger at Donner and his disregard for the importance of keeping his trap shut. Anger at the Rogues, at the stupid boomerang, at the hypernanites. Anger at Roy and Dick and Hartley and Artemis for their stupid secrets and trust issues. Anger at Uncle Barry for pressuring him into feeling like crap for being a hypocrite in that respect.

Mostly, he was pissed off at himself, for all his flaws and mistakes that caused all of the above. It was all him.  _He_ was really to blame. All of this was in his control, and he screwed. Up.

Wally growled, his eyes narrowed, and the vibrating in his hand and the hood of the car reached peak speeds. He had his anchor. He was going for it. He could feel his hand start to tickle in a weird way for the first time - it was working! He wasn't going to hold back this time, not this time-

… Just like so many parts of his life, the Mercedes blew up in his face. Literally.

.

.

.

As the rubble crumbled away and the smoke cleared, Wally cautiously opened his eyes to see a green aura around him - a force field, courtesy of the Green Lantern himself. If it hadn't been there, Wally could have been injured by the unexpected flying debris. Or worse.

For a while, the two just stared at the smoking wreckage. A flaming tire rolled by, just minding its own business. The landfill Hal had surrounded them in served to catch the explosion like a net, but everything caught on fire as a result, sending the pungent scent of burning garbage and melted glass in the air. Thick black and green smoke drifted toward the sky, gathering and traveling with the coastal winds.

_The EPA will definitely have Hal's butt now._

Breaking the silence, Hal asked hesitantly, "Is that… Is that supposed to happen, Walls?"

"Not in the slightest," Wally whispered, his arm still outstretched, the glove burnt up around his hand and wrist, all the way up to his upper arm. There was a 3-D starburst-shaped pattern of burnt earth on the ground and around the car, as if the explosion had originated in his palm. "What the  _heck_  was that? You didn't douse the thing in gasoline, did you?"

"Nope."

"Did… Uncle Barry have this happen when he first started out?"

"Nope, just a bunch of bloody knuckles. And noses. And knees. And such. But definitely no explosions." Hal crossed his arm and cocked his head to the side, glancing between Wally and the wreckage with a look that was two-parts impressed and one-part… fear. "You alright, though?"

"Sort of. Hand kind of stings." Wally flexed his palm and fingers, face twisting at the faint burning and pulling sensation. He scowled at the remains of the Mercedes, shrugging helplessly. "I mean, it could have been  _way_  worse, though. I don't know how that happened. I'm... I'm not so sure I want to do that again."

Rather than contradicting and encouraging him, Hal was quiet before he put his hands on his hips and regarded Wally with a gentle, unsure expression for once. "Y'know, Kid, maybe vibrating through things isn't meant to be… your thing. The last thing you'd want to do is collapse a f***ing skyscraper because you accidentally demolished a supporting beam. I'm always one for defying the impossible, never giving up, that whole 'if at first you don't succeed, try try again' s*** but…"

"... But at this point, it's really not worth it," Wally finished Hal's sentiment. "Our job is to save people, not endanger them. Trying to follow in Uncle Barry's footsteps could kill someone at this rate. Not. Worth. It." Disappointed, he curled his hand into a fist, wincing as the slightly-burnt skin stretched around his muscles and knuckles. "I'm not fast enough, as usual. The battlefield's no place to experiment or take these kinds of chances - It's different if the only one who gets hurt because I'm too slow is  _me_ , but the second other people are at risk? I mean,  _come on_. Wouldn't be the first time someone got hurt because of me."

_Like Gar Logan. Way too close for comfort._

Hal ruffled his hair, a smile returning to his face. "Well, this is just in this case, Walls. There are plenty of other tricks I've seen Flash pull off that you haven't even tried yet. Has he shown the helicopter maneuver? The water funnel? The instant flames of fury."

"... No?"

"See?" Hal gave a broad smile, clapping Wally on the shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. "Plenty of other techniques to pick up, and that's not even counting the maneuvers you'll develop on your own - maybe some that not even Barry can replicate. Don't give up yet."

Wally managed to reciprocate the hopeful smile, thinking that most of his smiles these days seemed forced.

"I… I guess so."

* * *

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
December 22, 12:47 EST**

_Recognized. Kid Flash. B03._

"It's the most wonderful time of the year!" Wally sang out as he materialized in the Team's home base, arms loaded with cookie fixings and ornaments.

Silence. Except for the echo of his own voice. He kicked at a stray pebble, the skittering sound sounding hollow in the expanse of the Cave.

After setting down the bags and boxes on the coffee table, Wally wandered around the hallways and levels, feeling instantly that something was off. Maybe not as off as it did when Red Tornado's family infiltrated the place a while back, but something was definitely wrong and he wasn't "in" on it.

Granted, it wasn't the first time he'd arrived at an empty Mount Justice, but still. It was the holidays. Wouldn't M'gann, Conner, and Zatanna at least be here, doing some decorating or watching  _The Christmas Story_  or chugging eggnog or something?

No, judging by the thin film of dust on the remote controls, it seemed like no one had set foot in the Cave for days. Wally bit his lip, feeling confused and nervous without a reason. What, it wasn't like someone came and kidnapped the Team, right? He'd texted Dick this morning, who kept saying that they were having a snowball fight or going hiking up the mountain or something, so… what gives?

After a beat, Wally turned and ventured over to the sealed apartment in the ceiling where the 'Team Mom' hung out when he was recharging. "Uh, Tornado? You here?"

There was a faint beeping and whirring noise, and then the hatch spun open, and the large red android descended to tower over Wally below. "Welcome - Kid Flash."

"Hi. Happy Holidays."

After a pause (likely Tornado was checking his programming and the calendar) he replied, "Season's Greetings. What brings you to the Cave today - Kid Flash?"

Wally raised an eyebrow and shrugged, digging his hands in his pockets. "I dunno. Just thought I'd hang out with the others." Interacting with the AI in the talking android wasn't exactly easy, since he tended to miss emotional or social cues, but Wally did his best. "Are they… gee, are they on a mission or something? There's no trace of anyone, not even Wolf."

"The Team is - not - on a mission. The canine has been - released - to the wild - until further notice. Superboy - assured me that he could call - Wolf - back - when he returned."

"Okay…" Wally furrowed his brow, mind whirling. "But... they're not here  _now_ , right? If they're not on a mission, then… where are they?" he tried again, hoping more exact wording would work with Tornado's programming.

"Forgive - me," Tornado hummed, "My speech seems to be - slow - today. It is not - accustomed - to cold weather."

"Oh, no problem."

"I do not have - information - on the Team's - location. They left in the - Bioship - on Monday, December 20th, 2010 - at - roughly 2 o'clock a.m. - Eastern Standard T-"

"Kay!" Wally interrupted impatiently, blinking his eyes hard and rubbing his temples and walking away. "Appreciate the preciseness, Tornado, but that's all I wanted to know. Team's MIA. I'll… see if I can contact Robin. Merry Christmas!"

"And a - Happy - New Year - Kid Flash." The android ascended to his apartment once more.

Meanwhile, Wally pulled his comms unit out of his pocket and shoved it in his ear, pulling sandwich ingredients out of the kitchen's fridge and arranging them on the table. "You'd better not cost me overseas minutes, Dick," he muttered as he spoke to voice command to contact 'Robin.'"

The line rang twice before his favorite Boy Wonder picked up. "Uh, yeah?" he said, sounding faint and distracted.

"Dude, where are you?"

"Confidential mission. From Batman."

Wally rolled his eyes, slapping some mayo on a slice of bread. "Wow! You know what I'm doing? Making a baloney sandwich. Kinda like you just did. I talked to Tornado, you guys are not on a mission. Not an  _official_  one, anyway." He finished slapping on some cheese and the top slice of bread as there was a pause over the line.

Robin sighed. "A friend. Jack Haly."

Wally paused in mid-bite of his sandwich. "The circus guy? From your old Flying Grayson days?"

"Yeah. He's implicated in this global crime spree. Someone in the show's dirty, but I need to prove old Jack's clean or he might lose the circus."

"Then why not bring me along?! I know your backstory. I know what that circus means to you. It's where you grew up, it's where you… lost your-" he slowed down, not wanted to drag up old memories for his best friend.

Dick interjected anyways. "-I left you behind  _because_  you know my backstory. I didn't want my best pal questioning my objectivity."

"Dude. That's what a best pal is for." Wally set down the sandwich on the plate, suddenly losing his appetite as he seemed to do so often these days, and leaned on his elbows against the counter. After a few seconds, he asked, "Is… is Roy with you?"

"Um. Yeah."

That got Wally pacing. "Oh, so you can bring along Mr. Cynic Sam and traipse across the Atlantic to avenge your home, but you leave  _me_  behind? Roy knows everything too, Dick. Why does he deserve to be at your side but not me?"

Dick didn't say anything. How could he, knowing what Wally was probably feeling - and what he was going to be feeling in, oh, about twenty-seven minutes?

Wally scoffed. "Silence. Duh. Dude... what's wrong with us? When did everything go bad?"

Dick got defensive. "You talking about you, me, or Roy? Because I think all three of us know what day  _your_  life started to go downhill. Five bucks says you still haven't told Barry yet, have you?"

Wally dug his hands in his hair, an involuntary shudder sending vibrations into the earpiece and making static blur the line for a few moments. "We're not talking about me, alright?" he whispered, knowing that the Cave was hardly a secure environment to go blabbing secrets. "This is about  _you_ , and the circus, and the fact that - once again - you don't trust me enough with the little things. 'Objectivity' my foot, man, these are your  _origins_. This is a matter of who you are, and who you were, and where you came from. Is there any doubt that if I found out something crucial about the… the  _freaking lightning bolt_  that hit me… dude, you know I'd tell you. You and Roy. I've always told you guys everything-" He grit his teeth.

 **BRUGES  
** **December 23, 07:04 CET**

" _-And I mean everything. 'specially when it counts."_

Dick inhaled, checking his watch and looking around. There was no one there. "So what do you want me to do, Wally? Do you really want to make the trek over here and join us? Ready to pull some circus act that one, has a place in the performance and two, doesn't give away your superpowers? Wanna come run around on a snow-covered train in acrobat attire and hope that you don't slip and tumble off a cliff, since there's not a lot of room?  _What_?"

"You really don't me there, do you?"

"Not presently, no."

"... That's cold, dude."

"And that sounds about right. Sometimes, we have to be. You need to get it in your head that... that sometimes, friendship does  _not_  trump good, common sense. Being an open book is nice and all, but we're not just your friends from high school, Wally. Much as I'd like to spill every juicy detail going on in my life, there are some things that should not be shared, let alone said out loud. I'm… I'm  _Robin_ , dude. Batman's my mentor. Strategy's my game. And just like Roy told you… it's not strategic in any sense of the word to tell you things. Not. Now."

"Wait- 'just like  _Roy_  told me'? How do you know what he- so this is all between you and Roy?" Wally paused on the other end of the line, seething by the sounds of it. "You guys. You're ganging up on me. I'm… I'm third wheeling."

"Don't make this into more than it is, Wally. Just… go home!" Dick closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, and leaned against a pole. "J-Just do yourself a favor, and go home. You're in  _way_  over your head, whether you want to admit it or not, and you have been ever since November. These. Things. Have. Consequences. Go home. Right now. For your own good."

"Dick, wait, you can't just-" Wally's voice was cut off as Robin hung up on the connection, pulling the comms unit out of his ear and stuffing it in his pocket. He checked his watch again. Wally's timing was uncanny.

This had to be a clean break. Not that he'd have called that conversation  _clean,_ but when you're faced with a decision for the greater good, you need enough force behind it to justify it. Rationalize it. Especially when it doesn't make sense without the bigger picture.

Wally didn't have the bigger picture, but Dick did. This was... necessary. In more ways than one.

Simple physics.

" _Here we go."_

**MOUNT JUSTICE  
December 23, 01:09 EST**

"He hung up on me." Wally dug the earpiece out of his own ear and stared at it. "He actually just hung up on me."

The gravity of the situation dawning on him, that Roy and Dick were purposely keeping something of this magnitude from him, going so far as to  _exclude_  him from the ultimate mission entirely… Wally closed his eyes and leaned up against the refrigerator. "Guess I'll... go, then," he sighed to his sandwich.

The sandwich said nothing.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 23, 00:56 CST**

The last thing he expected when he unlocked and entered the doorway to Uncle Barry's house in the wee hours of the morning was to see Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, and his own mentor, the Flash seated in the living room. All in civvies. Aunt Iris was in the kitchen, busying herself with typing on her computer, still in her suit with her press pass around her neck, but obviously paying most of her attention to the events in the living room through the doorway.

Wally swallowed, feeling his entire being go ice cold, his face turn pale. He stood perfectly still as chunks of snow slid and dripped off his coat onto the welcome mat, his snowboots grounding him in the moment.

Why were they looking at him like that?

Why did they all have such serious faces?

"Uh… who died?" he blurted, pulling his gloves off and shoving them in his coat pockets as he hung it up on the coatrack. No one responded to that, and he turned his attention to his mentor. "U-Uncle Barry? What's up?" he tried, making an attempt at the smile.

Why did the blonde man look at him with that hard look in his expression? It looked something like the look on his face in Chicago, but with more… betrayal in it, but why that was Wally could begin to fathom-

Oh…

Oh, wait.

Oh….  _no…_

This.

Was.

Actually.

It.

Wonder Woman's bright blue gaze was ice cold as she sat there on Uncle Barry's couch, one pant suited-leg crossed over the other, her hands professionally placed together on her knee as she regarded him sternly.

"Wallace Rudolph West, also known as Kid Flash, designation: B03, you are on indefinite probation from all League-affiliated activity and communications under the conditions of the U.N. Authorization Charter for Extralegal Activity." Wonder Woman's eyes narrowed.

_"Effective immediately."_

* * *

**END OF PART TWO.**

* * *

_**A.N.**_  Dun dun  _dunnnnn_!

So yeah, a Hal appearance! Hartley seems to be Wally's only friend who he's on good terms with! Barry's not happy. And... y'know... Wally's in big trouble and stuff.

I'm curious what you think! What are your reactions, predictions? What's your favorite/least favorite part? Any suggestions or things you think I should fix? If you care about anything at all, I'd love to get your reviews!

Yours,

~Iron Woobie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Dun dun dunnnnn!
> 
> So yeah, a Hal appearance! Hartley seems to be Wally's only friend who he's on good terms with! Barry's not happy. And... y'know... Wally's in big trouble and stuff.
> 
> I'm curious what you think! What are your reactions, predictions? What's your favorite/least favorite part? Any suggestions or things you think I should fix? If you care about anything at all, I'd love to get your reviews!
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie


	18. Confine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Alright, after a semester of college sophomore-hood, the third and final part of Outlier is all plotted and planned out, so we can get cracking over this holiday break. In fact, I get six weeks off! Maybe we can finally finish this story off after a wild… gee, it will have been two years since I started this story in a couple of days! Imagine that!
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy! Leave a review if you feel so inclined. :)
> 
> Yours,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie

PART THREE.

 **endurance**  (noun): the ability or strength to continue or last, especially despite fatigue, stress, or other adverse conditions; stamina.

* * *

_Protocol._

_The pattern of policies and regulations that maintain order in the midst of chaos. In the face of certain disaster. Any institution worth its salt that's lasted as long as a organization of superheroes - particularly those who protect their identities like their lives depend on it - has protocols set in place to handle affairs when things go south._

_As Wally finds out the hard way, the Justice League does not mess around._

**18**

**CONFINE**

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 23, 01:11 CST**

For a long time, at least to his rapid-fire brain, Wally only managed to gather the feeling of air entering and exiting his lungs. Slow, long draws of breath through gritted teeth, ice-cold in his throat, and burning even colder within his chest. He could feel his sternum rise and fall as he breathed, slowly, carefully, with all the delicacy he usually applied when he was measuring chemicals in a lab setting.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

It was dark, and once he came to terms with his breathing, Wally then came to the realization that his eyes were closed. Though it was dark - a quiet, comforting dark, with the white noise of his own breaths being the background elevator music to that darkness - it wasn't exactly pitch black. It had a bit of a reddish tint, likely from the inside of his squeezed-shut eyelids.

So he was breathing. Slowly, he breathed, and his eyes were closed.

Alright. What else?

He was still standing upright, for whatever reason, though it was only because his knees were locked beneath him, stabilizing him on legs that were the strongest of any kid alive. He stood rock solid, hardly twitching, continuing to breathe slowly.  _Inhale. Exhale._ At his sides, his hands were clenched tight. He could feel his palms ache with the strain of his wrist and finger muscles pulled taut, and his skin hurt as his nails dug into the calloused flesh of his own hands. His fists were the only things that moved, besides his lungs, and they shook rapidly.

No... they were vibrating. Fast. Impressively fast, in fact.

They seemed to make a humming sound as they quaked and shivered at his sides, pressed firmly against the sides of his thighs, and he could actually feel the fabric of his jeans grow warmer from the friction.

He continued breathing.  _Inhale. Exhale._

And wasn't that strange? That his breathing was so perfectly measured, down to the minutia of a fractured second, so carefully modulated that it had to be either very intentional - focused - or habitual.

It seemed that his breathing was so evenly paced, so freakishly steady and slow for  _him_ , an erratic, high-speed, hyperactive teenager, of all people… it would have taken him hours to get it this well under control on purpose.

So that meant this was habitual, instinctive, rather than voluntary.

Yeah, it definitely was. This breathing practice was actually  _taught._ Wally remembered all of those fishing trips with Uncle Barry starting in that first year of having his speed. All those long hours sitting in the boat on the Granite Peak Lake, twirling the fishing rod between his preteen fingers and groaning in boredom. Learning patience. Getting to know his uncle.

Practicing breathing.

Using it as coping mechanism, to manage weather extremes, clear his mind, and protect his sanity when fit hit the shan. Slow his heart rate down when in distress, danger, or damage.

_Inhale. Exhale._

Why would Wally have needed to rely on such a coping mechanism now? Something to protect him in this way, something so well ingrained into his habits that it would kick in like this all on its own?

Protecting him… like a shield.

' _Our identities protect us, and they protect those closest to us, too.'_ From the depths of one of those memories of the fishing trips, Uncle Barry's voice filtered into this private darkness of deep breathing and shaking hands. _'Secret identities… they act like a giant shield in a gunfight.'_

' _Take that barrier of protection away, and other innocent people are going to get caught in the crossfire.'_

Wally's eyes flew open, his pupils narrowed to pinpoints from the light and the shock, and he slowly stumbled back a few steps, back slamming suddenly into the hard, wooden front door behind him. He must have spaced out - blacked out? - for a moment there. Good thing he snapped out of it before he actually fell to the floor.

"Oh," he breathed, swallowing down the sudden wave of nausea.  _"Oh."_

And just like that, with a  _whoosh_  that resounded deep in his ears, the gravity of his situation came back to him all at once.

"-sy Kid. Easy, Wally. It's alright, Kid. Easy." Uncle Barry was walking towards him, alarm in his eyes a few levels above some deeper emotion that Wally had trouble deciphering.

"I'm fine." His own voice was unnervingly quiet. He put a hand up, straightening himself and leaning against the door with a single vibrating palm, ripping it away at the loud drum-rolling sound it made against the hardwood. "Yep. I'm… I'm good."

Well, 'good' was a relative term, anyway.

Wally trained his eyes to the ground, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, feeling a cold sweat along the raised hairs. He kicked off his boots, which continued to make a puddle of rainwater at his feet, and placed them gently against the wall beneath the coat rack. Slow, methodical movements, as instinctual as the even-paced breathing that continued to keep him steady. Anything to distract him from current events as long as possible.

"Take a seat, Kid," Uncle Barry spoke up, gesturing to the empty easy chair across from the other couches in the room. Each seat of which were filled with... the Flash, of course. And Wonder Woman. Plus Superman.

And the friggin' Dark Knight.

_It's my lucky day. Four founding league members actually want to talk to me, and it's to rip me a new one._

_Oh. Flippin'. Joy._

He knew he should have been far more panicked, considering he'd had a similar experience of being put on stage before the scrutiny of judgmental adults just over a month ago, and this was  _way worse_. Now more than ever was the time to whip out all the excuses, the defenses, the debate he'd had over a month to prepare for when this moment would inevitably arrive.

But when this time had finally come, Wally just felt calm. A cold, frozen, tired calm. A fatigued, stiff lack of emotion, besides a general feeling of constriction that only his breathing could get him through. He didn't feel  _dead_  exactly… nor did he feel  _fine._

Fine.

More like _confined._

Wally hesitated, feeling that he was entering dangerous waters with sharks that had likely been lying in wait for his sorry butt for hours now. He hadn't told anyone he was going to the Cave, though that wouldn't have stopped Batman from pinpointing his exact location to the square inch. But in any case, they hadn't chosen to have this confrontation at Mount Justice for a very specific reason.

They'd decided to do this right here, right now, in perhaps the most comfortable place for Wally on the planet. Even more of a safe haven than his  _own_  house with his parents.

They wanted him to sit in his favorite seat, in his favorite building, with his favorite person nearby, surrounded by the collective sum of all he wished to be in life. Heck, this very spot was where he'd been decked out in Justice League memorabilia on Thanksgiving morning, munching on junk food, watching TV, and healing from surgery that three out of these four people had  _performed_  hours before.

The setting was comfortable, sure.

A little too comfortable.

Wally blinked, suddenly understanding, and obliged, sitting down gingerly in the waiting chair. He leaned forward over his knees with his hands clasped in front of him, focusing on keeping his fingers together and still - to no avail. He could spot Aunt Iris eavesdropping from the corner of his eye, though she didn't seem to look up from her laptop.

"You're expecting me to run." He looked up at them from beneath his eyebrows, frowning. "You think I'll make a break for it? Really?"

Batman - actually,  _Bruce Wayne_  at the moment, though that didn't make him come across as any less intimidating - raised his eyebrows. "You haven't thought about it once? Your survival instincts say otherwise." He nodded towards Wally's hands, which continued to shake on his knees, betraying the horror that didn't even reach his own internal radar.

"Maybe I thought about it," Wally muttered, hating every passing second of this drawn-out conversation. Though the small talk and banter was a welcome distraction from the hammer that was about to fall. "But really. With  _him_ looking right at me, I couldn't take one step before he'd catch up." His eyes darted over to meet Uncle Barry's unblinking blue gaze, and he gave a small shrug. "Why try?"

Uncle Barry didn't say anything, simply staring at Wally with that unreadable expression.

Diana spoke up, "Wallace, we need to-"

"Wally."

"I'm sorry?" she snapped with narrowed eyes, revealing how wound-up they all were.

"My name is Wally. Wally West… your  _Royal Highness_." He narrowed his eyes, somewhat appalled at himself for sassing a terrifying Amazonian who hadn't exactly adored him even on a good day.

Maybe it was because he really had nothing to lose at this point.

"Are you testing me?" she said, raising a bit out of her seat and barely restraining herself from lashing out. "Honestly? Do you have any idea what you've done?"

All of those arguments, the excuses he'd stored and improved and perfected in his mind since that one morning at the faculty meeting went out the window, and Wally could only sigh. "I... think I have a pretty good idea."

"Then please. Allow me to give you exactly the right idea.  _Wallace_." Wonder Woman's eyes flashed a blue that seemed almost neon in its intensity, and she tossed a bound folder on the coffee table, the momentum sliding it along the glass towards Wally. He clenched his teeth and picked it up, undoing the binding and starting to glance over the contents as she spoke. "We looked into your exposure, assessed the damage. Over two hundred and fifteen potential minds and counting, all possessing knowledge that only a choice few on the entire planet should have... And you didn't think to tell us? You didn't think we'd find out?!"

"Diana," Bruce cut in, nodding for her to step back. Turning his attention to Wally, his dark eyes seemed to stab him right through the chest.  _If looks could kill…_ "You signed a contract, a protocol, in 2007, agreeing to what conditions you were expected to meet, and what consequences you would face should you fail to meet those conditions. Surely you can recall."

Wally's jaw clenched harder, and he began having trouble keeping his breathing under control. His heart rate started to pick up as he managed to reply, "... How could I possibly forget?" Though he fiddled with the black paperclip on the folder and ran his fingers along the edges of the pages inside, he didn't bother digesting the lines of words before his eyes.

He didn't need to read any of the dirt they'd dug up. He'd lived it, after all.

With a small, grim smile, Wally tossed the folder back onto the table and leaned back in his chair. "I remember every word of the contract by heart. I'd been reading over those pages every day for a year before I was even allowed to put pen to paper."

"Then you blatantly disregarded them." Bruce's eyes narrowed to the slits of the trademark Batglare, and Wally worried in the back of his mind that he may actually melt under the penetrating fire of the man's eyes.  _Again, if looks could kill..._

Which was ironic to think about, because Superman was here too, and he actually had laser vision.

"Your expectations were that if you were to join the League affiliates, you would be willing and capable to remain anonymous in the public eye. You failed to meet those expectations, and when you did so, you failed to alert the League so we could intervene early on and manage the exposure. Now, the knowledge has festered like a rash, and any potential management will be difficult and far less effective." Not bothering to further state the obvious, the Dark Knight's voice shifted into a businesslike tone, formal and professional and unforgiving in its rigidity. "The rules of your probation are as follows. Containment. Confiscation. Control. Consequence."

"We've revoked your access to all League computer systems," Wonder Woman continued, "from databases, to dossiers and reports, to targeting systems. You no longer have authorization to use the Zeta tubes. Your designation is on par with any average civilian."

Wally choked on air.  _So it begins._ "Seriously? I really can't go anywhere?"

"We can't afford giving you, a  _liability_ , full access to our most secure locations and systems when we know you have a city full of curious inhabitants - some of them bound to be nefarious - watching your every move, waiting for you to make a mistake." Diana primly crossed one pant-suited leg over the other. "Knowing this should probably dissuade you from engaging in even  _more stupid_  behavior, such as trying to access the Zeta-tubes anyways. A futile attempt that would further increase the damage you've caused by showing anyone who follows you the precision location of Central City's terminal."

_Much as I hate to admit it… it makes sense._

"But I can still go places, right? Through... non-Zeta ways?"

"No." Clark Kent was short and exact, concise as any news reporter. "You're limited to the boundaries of Central City, and only with the accompaniment of a League affiliate. Lucas Carr is in the area, and will accompany you where necessary. Otherwise, you are to remain either in the Allen house or in your own."

Wally bit his lip. "Alright, fine. Fine. So-"

"Confiscation," Bruce continued without delay, his brusque tone causing Wally to shrink a fraction, even though Bruce wasn't raising his voice any more than usual. "We've already taken measures to appropriate your gear and equipment. All prototypes and versions of your suits, your gauntlets, your goggles and your comms units are now in League custody… and we expect for you to hand over the remaining comms unit on your person now."

"My… you're taking my  _suits?_ " Wally slowly rose to his feet, eyes widening as he struggled to understand. "W-why?"

"Temptation," Uncle Barry said quietly, his words few and short. He extended his hand tiredly. "Just hand them over, Kid. Don't make this difficult."

"No.  _No way._ " Wally shook his head, the earpiece in his pocket burning against his leg. He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at the four heroes in frustration. "Y-you can't just cut me off from everything and... and everyone. What if… what if I need to call for help? Or-or Uncle Barry, what if  _you_ need backup-"

The blonde man's eyes narrowed, and the internal tension that had been building in the older speedster snapped like a rubber band. "Don't you get it, Kid? You're exposed! I  _can't_ call you for backup, even if I wanted to. That's the whole point of your probation. You can't seem to grasp that things have escalated to the point where you're too much of a risk to me, to civilians, to the League. To  _yourself."_

"I  _know_  that, but-"

"I really don't think you do." Uncle Barry's voice broke into a whisper. "Contrary to what you and your friends might believe, the League's protocols aren't a bunch of stupid bureaucracy and regulations simply trying to keep you in line, to hold you under the League's thumb. This. Is. Life. And. Death. If you listen and follow the rules… as hard as it seems to be for you to do that... you won't need to call for backup. Neither will I. So stop playing around, and  _give me the comms unit._ "

Wally's even breathing was really being given a run for its money. His throat felt closed up and rough on the inside, like he was trying to swallow a pinecone or something. He searched his uncle's eyes for any sense of what was going on in his mentor's mind, where he stood in the grand scheme of things... all he came up with was fatigue. And anger. And disappointment, of course. Each of which twisted Wally to his core, but the worst feeling he picked up was…

Resignation.

Oh.

So... that's it then.

_He's completely given up on you._

Wally closed his eyes and sat back down in the chair, ripping the earpiece out of his pocket and placing it gingerly on the table on top of the files full of the incriminating evidence. He truly began to feel dead inside, as every element of who and what he was being stripped off and away from him like string cheese.

"So... I can't talk to anyone... I can't go anywhere... I can't use anything… I think that just about covers it, right?" he sighed, slouching in his chair and looking at his red-socked feet. He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to dump his sorry butt on his bed. He wanted to curl up in his blankets, close his eyes, and sleep for a thousand years. He-

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

Wally knew the weight of that hand like he knew his own voice. His eyes looked up to meet Uncle Barry's gaze, who was kneeling down to his level, just like he'd done when Wally was younger. A gesture of equality. This close up, Wally could just barely glimpse the hint of something besides resigned disappointment in his mentor's eyes.

Hope? Not exactly. Encouragement? Eh, not quite it…

Wally couldn't read him, and his meager attempts at mind-reading his mentor were put on hold as he suddenly felt the touch of something cold and hard around one of his ankles. He glanced down just as the sound of fusing metal and the quiet beep of an alarm echoed in the cavernous living room.

All before Wally could even think to react.

Swift as ever, Uncle Barry had managed to encase his lower left leg in a solid steel ring, his hand reluctantly pulling away from Wally's shoulder as he took a step back. Wally raised his eyes back to his mentor's in an unblinking stare, standing up to his feet and feeling off-kilter as his precious balance was thrown off with this new weight pulling down on his left side.

"What's this," he mumbled, not blinking as he held Uncle Barry's gaze. He shook his ankle experimentally, his foot swinging with some effort. "This… this is your solution.. After thought and consideration,  _this_ is the plan you've decided on." Wally rubbed his eyes with a hand, feeling something burning and hot building up inside him - and it wasn't just emotionally.

His body felt… weird.

"I just can't trust you, Kid," said Uncle Barry.

"So you decide to put a  _parking boot_  on me?"

"You forget, I'm still a cop, Kid. I'm not afraid of using restraints for the greater good. For your  _own_  good."

Wally scoffed indignantly. "Sure, except I bet this isn't just some stupid beeper to put me on house arrest." He hefted his foot up, holding his ankle in his hands and running his fingers over the metal ring, even as he felt his own inner equilibrium shift with every passing second.

"Thick. Utilitarian. Seamless. Only the best would do, after all…" Wally huffed a dark, bitter laugh. "This is the crap they slap on metahuman prisoners at Belle Reve. I just have the dignity of having it attached to my leg, instead of wrapped around my neck - like a collar. Behavior monitor. Delivers shocks, if needed..." Already Wally could feel his strength being leeched out of his being, and he dropped his foot back down to the ground with a  _thud._

 _A power inhibitor_.

These civvie-clad heroes had nothing to say at the moment, and even though he could feel his body rapidly cooling down from its normally high temperature to a measly, standard 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit, Wally had never felt more heated with rage.

He'd been shackled.

Like some disobedient animal.

Chained, in every way possible.

And  _Uncle Barry_  was the one doing this to him.

"Okay, I screwed up. Big time. I deserve everything I've got coming to me, but…  _come on._ " Wally grit his teeth, feeling cold shivers pinching his spine as several of his muscles in his back and legs began to constrict and flex. Sparks of electricity flew out of his hair as he shuddered, hugging his arms to himself. "Taking away my speed, the literal essence of what I am? Making me a prisoner in my own body, that's 'justification' to you? That…  _that's what you think of me?_ " he whispered, eyes narrowed at the only person in the room who could understand what was happening to him.

What this meant.

Uncle Barry stared back at him, and had the decency to look at him with some amount of sympathy. "You should sit down, Kid."

"Are you even listen-"

"Sit. Before you collapse." His mentor firmly pushed him down into the couch, which Wally's legs were grateful for even if he was loathe to admit his growing weakness. The other heroes in the background seemed to blur and fade from Wally's attention, leaving only Uncle Barry in the focus. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right? Kid, I wouldn't put you through all this if I couldn't handle it myself. If I hadn't…  _tested_  it myself, even. Losing your speed, something so ingrained into literally every molecule of your being… It sucks, Kid. I know it does, and you'll have a rough time of it for a while. Neither you nor your body is used to being a normal human after so many years, but… well, what do we Flashes do best?"

Uncle Barry's mouth curled into a small smile, one that Wally just couldn't return as he begrudgingly replied, "Adapt."

"Bingo. When all else fails, when all falls to pieces…" his eyes narrowed, and Wally saw another glimpse of that unidentified emotion in his mentor's expression. "...  _when everything we know and are is challenged_ … we adapt."

Wally swallowed past that pinecone still lodged in his throat as he felt his weeks-long headache evolve into a pulsing migraine, goosebumps raising up and down his arms and neck. In the back, he could hear faintly Aunt Iris talking to Wonder Woman, notes of concern in her voice.

_Is this withdrawal? It's horrible, and I've barely gone through ninety seconds of it._

"Look, I just… I want… to fix… this," he mumbled vaguely, gesturing to nothing in particular as he swayed a bit backwards into his chair. He was starting to feel nausea, was breaking into a sweat. Oh boy,  _there_ was the vertigo. "Please, Uncle Barry... just… just tell me… how to… make this right. Don't…  _don't tell me this is it_."

His mental faculties felt sluggish as his thoughts slowed down to that of any average sixteen-year-old. Already he could feel the corners of his vision fading to darkness, that ringing in his ears sounding the mental alarms that he was about to blackout. It didn't help that he'd felt dead on his feet for a few days now, and was in dire need of a good night's sleep. Wally held on to consciousness like a life raft, barely staying adrift.

He had to hear it. He  _had_  to hear Uncle Barry say something, anything, offer him some grain of hope no matter how small... that things wouldn't stay this crappy forever. Otherwise…

Stripped of his title, his suits and gadgets, the Zeta tubes, and all the fancy, high-tech stuff he'd come to take for granted, life would've been pretty crummy already.

But without his friends, his livelihood? The Team?

Without his powers, his place at the Flash's side?

Wally was about to face a life without Kid Flash. And what kind of life would that even be?

… Hardly a life worth living.

"Kid." The break in Uncle Barry's whisper tugged Wally back briefly into the land of the lucid. The blonde man's blue eyes crinkled at the edges, his mouth drawn to a taut line in a distraught expression Wally had rarely seen before. He stood to his feet, putting his hands on his hips and hanging his head, and Wally's gut sank. Just as he drifted away from the loss of his speed and vitality thanks to the inhibitor on his leg, he could pick out five little words from his mentor's speech.

" _...Just give it a rest."_

* * *

_**TWELVE HOURS EARLIER...** _

**CENTRAL CITY  
December 22, 13:30 CST**

"Black, adult male. Looks to be about forty-five, 5 foot 8 inches, 220 pounds. Body temp's dropped thirteen and a half degrees, warm and stiff... We're looking at about 5 hours since death." Barry stood up from where he was crouched beside the victim's corpse and turned to look at a series of blood splatters on the surrounding pavement. "Judging by the droplet diameter and the tail length of the streaks, victim was shot from about 800 yards."

"Sniper?" Justin muttered as he scribbled the details down on his clipboard and started bagging evidence.

"Sniper." Barry closed his eyes and sighed. It was always difficult covering a crime scene, knowing that his presence there could have -  _would have_  - saved a life.  _You can't be everywhere at once, Barry_ , he repeated to himself. A mantra, on days like this one, where things looked pretty bleak.

He stepped lightly around the victim's corpse, crouching down again to look at the frost-covered sidewalk. Wait...

Was that the edge of a footprint? Barry narrowed his eyes and visualized the shape of a boot over the markings in the snow. If that was how a foot was oriented, and if the victim was facing in the opposite direction, then...

"He wasn't alone," Barry mumbled.

"What's that?"

Barry followed the faint markings in the snow backwards, following the tread of what looked to be a 6 foot tall adult male for another few dozen feet before losing it at the edge of a nearby building. It ended right in front of an electronics store's display window. The blonde man stared into his reflection in confusion, idly noting the perpetual, purple bags beneath his eyes. He loved Christmas as much as the next energetic, patriotic, blonde-haired-blue-eyed American hero... but the holidays really took it out of him.

Gradually, Barry craned his neck back to look up the building towards its roof. Chunks of mortar were missing from the wall, in a vaguely cross-shaped pattern. As if it were shot by the business end of a grappling hook.

_So that's what we're dealing with._

"IDed the victim yet?" Barry called over to his partner without looking away from the telltale signs of well-prepared assassins.

Justin looked up from the dead man's wallet and his tablet. "Andre Cunningham. Records show he worked as a teacher at Central City High."

"Another teacher?" Barry turned to look at Justin in confusion. "That's the second one this week. Odd. And the other one worked at that school, too. Neither were from Keystone High, right?" Keystone was Wally's school.

"Right. You don't… you don't think there's a trend here, do you?" Justin started twirling his pen the way he always did when he got worried.

"How's that saying go? One's an isolated case. Two's a coincidence. At three, it's a pattern." Barry crossed his arms. "Hopefully there won't be a number three. Not sure what the killers have against high school educators, but… these guys don't play. Snipers, grappling equipment, decent shadowing technique… We're dealing with trained professionals."

"Do we call in the State Marshalls? The Feds?" Justin asked, nervously bagging up the victim's wallet with trembling, gloved hands. The younger man didn't typically do a lot of field work these days, preferring to do paperwork processing and lab-based analysis. He was only filling in for a colleague today, otherwise he wouldn't be anywhere near this mess.

"It's up to Richardson," Barry shrugged. "Technically, with these cases, Central City falls under concurrent criminal jurisdiction between the 6th District of Missouri... and the Justice League."

"That's true, but-"

Barry's phone rang, and he put his finger up for Justin to hold that thought. Turning away, he pressed his finger to his ear. "Talk to me."

"Flash, we've got a situation." Batman's gruff voice over the phone pushed Barry into a different mental mode. He took another few steps away from the crime scene, voice dropping into a whisper.

"When and where?" He was already turning to Justin to motion for him to continue on without him. "I'm finishing up casing a crime scene at the moment, but if it's urgent I can-"

"Flash, stop talking and listen. This regards your partner."

"Kid?" Barry's gut clenched, and words started vomiting out of his mouth at a rapid pace. " What happened? What's wrong? Where is he?  _Is he hurt?_ Is he-"

"He's not injured…  _yet_. He's at Mount Justice, but we need you to be at your house in ten."

"I-I don't understand. Stop beating around the bush and  _tell me now."_

"... Scale Nine."

Barry went silent, and for the first time in a while, the winter around him actually chilled his high-metabolism body to the bone.

It'd been a long time since the scarlet speedster had cursed. He generally didn't have to, because unlike Hal, he figured his vocabulary was sophisticated enough he didn't need a bunch of expletives to supplement his speech.

But then there were times where he really couldn't help it.

Times like when his nephew purposely doused himself in toxic chemicals and got struck by lightning, according to Barry's own notes on how to induce super-speed. Times like when his newlywed wife was kidnapped on their honeymoon and held hostage inside a barely-dormant Hawaiian volcano.

Times like when news hit that Wally's secret identity was not only exposed, but exposed at  _Scale Nine._  Meaning the potential for media attention and a full-blown worldwide exposure of his identity and safety was… major. The only thing worse would be if the kid had strutted out on stage at a New Year's Katy Perry concert in uniform, yanked off his cowl and goggles, and yelled into the microphone, "My name is Wallace Rudolph West of Central City, and I'm Kid Flash! Please come find me and hurt me!"

Barry gently placed his palm onto his face and released a long, drawn-out sigh.

" _Well, s***."_

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 23, 02:56 CST**

With Wally asleep in his bed upstairs, Barry ruffled his unconscious nephew's hair one last time, the familiar motion contrasting sharply with the conflicted feelings he had towards his younger friend and partner.

"Why, Kid?" he breathed, looking off at the posters of MMA fighters and Wally's framed, signed picture with Michael Johnson. A shelf of Justice League action figures lined his windowsill, while a precariously-balanced stack of comic books almost stretched from floor to ceiling. His red-and-black lightning bolt hoodie was draped over the back of his chair, and his desk was completely plastered in yellow, Kid Flash-themed bumper stickers.

"All of this, Kid. You had all of this. And if you could have told me sooner… where would we have been instead?" Barry grit his teeth, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You didn't leave me many options, Kid. You know that? I had to hear about this - which apparently has been dragging on for nearly _a month and a half_  - second-hand from the Bat. How do you think that made me feel?"

Barry straightened Wally's alarm clock on his nightstand, remembering how Wally was always excited to tell him he'd set his alarm the night before, in order to wake up early for morning patrol or a run to the Gulf. "I don't know what I did to make you think so little of me. I thought we had an understanding, Kid. But even in Chicago, when I asked you point-blank what was going on, you still refused. That would have been a golden opportunity."

Regretfully, Barry looked at Wally's freckled face, who had his eyes closed and was dead to the world as the "meta" part of his "metahuman" body was being drained away through an anklet. "I'm sure you're hurting right now, in more ways than one, but… so am I. So is your Aunt Iris. Things are about to change, Kid, in ways that neither of us can help. Our hands are tied, there's not much we can do."

There was silence, save for the quiet clanking of the room's radiator as it fought back the winter chill with a blast of hot air.

"I don't even know why I'm talking right now, honestly," Barry sighed for the umpteenth time that day, rubbing his cheeks tiredly. "At least you can take the holiday off, figure things out. I've still got work, and patrol, and figuring out the Rogues' business… which would have been easier with you on my side, Kid. Just saying... But I know the last thing you need on top of all of this is a guilt trip, so I'm just gonna go."

He turned away and was almost out the door to Wally's bedroom before he heard the shuffling of sheets behind him.

"... Sorry, Uncle Barry." A quiet mumble from the teenager still half-unconscious under the covers and fading in and out of awareness. "I wish… wish I-I could go back and... fix it. Fix all of it."

"Me too, Kid." Barry's face flickered, and he gave a small, sad smile as he carefully closed the door. "Me too."

* * *

 **LUXEMBOURG CITY  
** **December 23, 09:16 CET**

Artemis, dressed as Diane Danger and sharpening her arrows for an upcoming show, randomly felt an unusual, irritating buzzing tone in her comms unit, causing her to paw it out of her ear. A quick glance at the others on the Team around her in the train car proved that it wasn't just a personal issue. Robin frowned and opened up his gauntlet to reveal the projected hologram covered with red alert warnings.

"What's wrong?" she barked, standing to her feet. "Are we compromised?"

"No," Robin said, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall with a rapidly paling face. "Not us."

"Then who?"

"Wally." Roy came in, glancing briefly at Artemis's face before staring long and hard at Robin. He set his bow and quiver down and leaned against the doorframe. "Wally's compromised."

There was a beat, and then everyone started talking at once.  _How did this happen? Is he okay? Where is he now? Was he in uniform? Was he on patrol? Is he being held hostage?_

Roy fielded questions based on whatever details came through the alerts.

But Artemis didn't really care what he had to say. She was more interested in Robin, who was silently tapping away on his gauntlet, pulling up video footage and dialogue boxes and coding consoles. Basically hacking up a storm.

And muttering, "It was about time."

Artemis took a deep inhale and pulled out her phone, turning away from the other noisy inhabitants.  _Dial nine for the idiot line._

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

" _We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not available. Please check the number and dial again. This is a recording-"_

Artemis hung up and tried again.  _Unavailable. Unavailable. Unavailable._

"Robin, get Wally on the phone."

"Easier said than done," the Boy Wonder shrugged. "Seems like he's off comms, cell number's disconnected, same with the phone lines at his uncle's house and his parents' house… email account is deactivated… same with his accounts on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest-"

"He has a Pinterest?" Artemis snorted.

"Used it last week to learn how to crochet pink, lacy doilies and a Flash-themed hat and scarf. He's very proud." Robin smacked his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "The League sure is thorough. He's on total lockdown."

"Dang." Artemis sank down in a chair. "This is serious."

"At least he's safe," Robin whispered, everyone quieting down. "Protocol states that he's under supervision and protection until his status changes. As long as he's compromised, he's one of the safest civilians on the planet, next to maybe the President and Kim Kardashian. He'll be fine, and we can go find him once we return Stateside."

"... If you say so," M'gann said hopefully.

Artemis wasn't convinced. This was Kid Doofus they were talking about after all. If anyone could get into trouble under the constant supervision of the Justice League, while on probation, compromised, and cut off from all communications and transportation networks, it'd definitely be him.

Geez.

_Don't get yourself killed, Baywatch._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 24, 10:23 CST**

A woman running home from the department store huffed as she swung her bags on her wrists, furry boots plodding with effort towards her house. Last minute Christmas shopping was kicking her butt, but she was almost home.

Her husband, kids, and parents were waiting for her back in the house, likely starting a late breakfast. Just another five minutes, and she'd be-

A sudden figure appeared right in her path and caught her, pulling her suddenly down an adjacent alleyway before she knew what was happening.

Fear caught up to the initial shock, and she opened her mouth to scream for help when a hand clamped over her face, muffling her noise to nothing any passerby would notice. "Mmmphh!" she tried in vain.

 _You can't kidnap me. It's Christmas Eve!_  she pleaded with her eyes, unable to see her detainer in the darkness. She couldn't tell their height or bulk or even their gender, but she did know they had a good grip on her mouth. Feebly, she flailed around her shopping bags and kicked around with her legs, hoping to her attacker where it counts.

"Lady, lady, please calm your boobies. I ain't gonna hurt you, honest!"

"Mmph! Mmm-mmmhphmmm!"

"Ah, right. Well, you see, if I take my hand off your face, I think you'll scream. And that'd just mess up everything, see?"

"Mmmphhmm…"

"Yeah, better safe than sorry, you know. It's much more pleasant than gaggin' you, I can tell you that. And a gag'd give you the wrong idea, I think. You get it, right?"

The woman didn't even bother trying to respond.

"Right. So, moving on. Now, you're Louisa Small, right? Teach English as Keystone High? Never was too good at English 'n grammar n' spellin' 'n all that jazz."

Slowly, the woman gave an uncertain nod, trying and failing to bite the big, meaty hand covering her mouth.  _Who was this person? Their tone of voice and their way of speaking sounded totally wrong for a mugger._

"Oh, good! See, I've been trying to find teachers at that school, but I've sadly been oh-for-two so far. Sigh. Central City High, Keystone High, who'd have thought this city would have  _two_  different high schools? I sure didn't!" The figure let out a childish giggle before clearing his throat. "Anyways. The need for secrecy is for your own good. We can't have anyone findin' out about what we're doin' together!"

"Mmpmh?!"

"Oh, don't worry! I'll explain in a jiffy! Just gotta... double-check…" The figure poked his head out of the alleyway to look up and down the street, letting the sunlight reveal his face.

Oh, geez.

Of all the people...

She had to have been picked out by resident clown-villain,  _Trickster_. She rolled her eyes, even as her mouth was covered in his baseball-mitt of a palm, and cleared her throat.

"Right. Ain't nobody watchin' us. So. I'll just get right to it. A little birdy told me that he ate a grape travelin' through a grapevine and then spat grape-words on the street... or somethin' like that... sayin' that teachers at Keystone High School know who Kid Flash is. So, I've been lookin' all over for Keystone High folks, tryin' to learn that secret identity for myself, you see. I, uh, wanna send him a Christmas card! 'From the Rogues, Happy Holidays, Cordially Yours, and such and fiddle.' That's all!" A glimmer of light pierced through the alleyway, casting Trickster's big eyes in a weirdly sinister glow. "So can you spill the beans, miss teach'?"

Raising an eyebrow, Louisa shrugged, waiting for this idiotic clown to realize she couldn't answer until he decided to let her mouth open freely.

"Aww, you're no fun! The last two guys wouldn't help me either, and they  _died!"_

What.

Louisa started to struggle even harder, and the Trickster looked nervous in the dimmed lighting. "Aww, no,  _I_ didn't kill 'em! Someone else did! Lady, please stop movin' around, you're makin' it hard for me to cover your mouth and-"

"Step away from the woman and put your hands on your head."

Trickster froze as a flashlight bathed the entire alleyway in bright illumination. "... Eh? What's that? Who's you... Oh." It was one of those newer men in blue. Officer... Pool? Yeah, yeah, Officer Pool. Fresh-faced Yankee kid. "Eh, I ain't in the mood to play Cops 'n Robbers, officer. I think you could go bother someone else."

To his credit, Officer Pool held his flashlight and gun steady in a textbook grip, not even phased by encountering one of the city's most infamous villains on Christmas Eve. "I'm not going to repeat myself, Trickster. I've read your file. You're not invulnerable to bullets."

"... Well, that's going a little bit far, dontcha think?" Trickster frowned, turning to look at Louisa, who was still pinned and muffled with his hand against the alleyway wall. "What do you think, Lady? You think Mr. Policey's being a bit hasty?"

"Trickster, get on your knees and put your hands behind your head,  _now!"_

Groaning, Trickster rolled his head back and stuck his tongue out at a flabbergasted Officer Pool. "Besides, buddy. I don't think you 'read my file'. At least, not the latest version."

"W-what makes you think that?" The greenhorn policeman kicked himself for letting his voice waver, but something in Trickster's eyes, something steady even in a mind jam-packed with screaming monkeys and general mayhem, something that had a cutthroat undercurrent… unnerved him. "I read everything I can get my hands on. Your file was nothing special."

"Well, the only way to get your hands on my file would be to dig through my poop! 'Cause I ate it."

"... What? That doesn't make any sense, it's on a computer database-"

Distracted by the idle, confusing banter, Officer Pool was off guard when Trickster whipped out and delivered an acid gunshot right into the front of the young policeman's chest. Officer Pool stumbled backward into the road, screaming as his chest started dissolving away, the acid burning quickly through his bulletproof vest.  _He had to get it off, quick!_

Cars barely swerved around him. A couple of bikers rang their bells in alarm, unable to avoid colliding with what might be a major pileup in the next five seconds.

"Aww, I warned you, Officer! Nobody knows my file, or what I'm gonna do next… Not even me!" Trickster called out from the alleyway in the midst of the chaos, the woman he had pinned against the wall thrashing about as she watched Officer Pool and the surrounding scene about to evolve into destruction and disaster.

"That's why I'm here, Trickster," said the Flash, suddenly behind the Rogue clown. Trickster spun around, but not fast enough, and in the next blink of an eye, found himself tied up and handcuffed on the ground. Officer Pool had been stripped out of his dissolving, acid-splattered vest and coat and taken to the hospital, and the cars and bikers on the road had been sorted out and directed on their way. The woman had been checked on and brought to her family's house, and now the Flash was standing above Trickster's head, looking down at him with crossed arms.

The Fastest Man Alive was faster than ever. And he didn't look very happy.

"F-Flash? Buddy? I'm sorry-"

"You don't even get to apologize, Trickster. You don't get to call me Buddy." The Scarlet Speedster turned and narrowed his eyes. "Remember how we had that discussion a while back about what happens when you cross the line? Well, newsflash, 'Buddy'. You crossed it."

"I did?" Trickster frowned.

"Yep."

"How? How did I cross a line, Flash? Tell me!"

"Are you freaking-" The Flash closed his eyes and put his hands up, trying to maintain composure over his fury. It made Trickster scared inside. "Okay, where to start. You gassed the Chicago police station with your own farts, escaped from maximum security holding, hijacked a limousine and crashed it into a tree before switching to a Mini Cooper, drove it all the way here, and have been interrogating and murdering innocent teachers trying to find out the secret identity of Kid Flash ever since.  _My_  sidekick.  _You crossed a line four days ago!"_

"But I didn't kill them! I swear! I ain't killed nobody, Flash, scout's honor!"

"You're full of crap."

"That may be true, but it's just 'cause I'm constipated!"

"Not what I meant-"

"Flash." Trickster's expression and demeanor grew serious, and the Flash held back for a moment, taking the time to listen. "Flash, I promise you. As buddies. I ain't killed no teachers. The snowmen, they're the ones doin' the fancy snipin'. You gotta believe me."

"The… snowmen?"

"Yeah. Snowmen. Dress up in white to blend in with the snow. Take orders to kill anyone I try to talk to. It's why I'm trying to be discreet, you know? I'm only wearing nine colors today, not ten, see?" He gestured to his outlandish clown costume shamefully. "So bland and boring, but it's important. I ain't want nobody to be killed 'cause I stick out like a thumb with an owie."

The Flash stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. With a long exhale, he asked Trickster, "Taking orders from whom?"

"What's that?"

"Who. Are. The. Snowmen. Taking. Orders. From."

"Oh. Captain's orders."

"... Captain Cold?"

"Oh, yeah. Cold. Now, Captain Boomie's a whole different story-"

"Finally, you decide to say something useful." Without preamble, the Flash reached out and snagged Trickster by the scruff of his polka-dotted onesie, and then they went  _zoom zoom_  to the Police Headquarters. Trickster grinned as they entered the station. "Hi there, Martha! Working Christmas Eve again this year?"

"Trickster. Shut up," said the ill-tempered receptionist, buzzing the Flash in to take Trickster to the cell blocks in the back of the building.

"She wants me," Trickster grinned, elbowing the Flash conspiratorially in the ribs. It earned him a solid punch to the side. "Ouch."

"Keep telling yourself that. I want you to spend some quality time in here -  _no causing trouble_  - and when you've decided you're ready to tell me what I need to know to fix things up, you ask the warden to give me a call. Okay?

"Okay… Buddy?" Trickster tried, hopeful.

The Flash was in a very bad mood today. "Not buddies," he snapped as he slammed the metal door to the cell behind him and walked away.

Trickster sighed, climbing up into his bunk and putting his hands on his knees. "He confiscuated-consequited-confuzapated... he took away all my toys. Poopie. Now I'm gonna get bored real fast." He pouted, and then poked the mattress above his head.

"What do you want, punk?'

"Punk, heh. That's a new one. People usually call me moron or imbecile. My name is James! What's your name?"

The man on the top bunk rolled over and stared at Trickster with vacant, red-rimmed eyes. "Miserable. Call me miserable."

"I'm sorry."

"Apologies don't fix nothin'! I'm in jail at the hands of three superhero brats, it's Christmas Eve, I ain't seen my girlfriend in… twenty-four days, and my parents had the balls to name me  _Grindle._  Ain't nobody more sorry than I am."

"Poor Grindle." Trickster patted the felon's arm sympathetically. "Well, I'm here too, so maybe we can be miserable together. And even have some fun doing it, too! Whaddya say?" he offered, giving the man a beaming grin.

Grindle blinked, and rolled away from 'James' in his own bunk. "Dear Santa," he muttered sarcastically. "I ain't been a good boy this year, but it don't matter 'cause my wish is what a naughty boy deserves. All I want for Christmas this year is... for you to run over me with your reindeer like good old grandma. Seriously. Please, just kill me now. Yours, Grindle Evans."

Nothing was said for about ten minutes. And then...

"You know, that's not a very good letter to Santa, Grindle. I could help you revise and edit it, add a bit more of a thesis and supporting evidence, help you cite your sources. That way your wish'll definitely come true! So? Got a red pen?"

"... Shut up, James."

"Okay."

* * *

_It was cold. Really, not much of a surprise considering the season lately, but it really was cold. Bitterly frigid. Not just in the winter sense, either. Wind chill. Thin atmosphere. Even the mood._

_Wally was running. Running, really fast. Running in a circle, an unending left turn. His feet kept a steady cadence against the icy ground - his boots must have had fresh traction cut in, because he wasn't slipping at the moment. A miracle in itself._

_Uncle Barry was there, running too. But they weren't just training or patrolling or anything they usually did. The sense of urgency on his mentor's face was terrifying._

_A mission then? A battle?_

_The dire circumstances explained why the Flash was lapping him big-time, not showing much concern for preserving Wally's self-esteem like he usually did. Saving the world was more important than being worried about wiping the floor with your teenage nephew, after all._

_They were sprinting, sprinting hard, around and around and around, the blue-white of ice blasting them in the face. Wally was glad his goggles were anti-fog, otherwise he would have been blinded in a literal heartbeat._

_To the left, in the middle of the circle they were running the circumference of, there was the unmistakable crackle of electricity. A quick glance revealed a towering column of high-voltage lightning. Pure energy, and not of the type Wally typically knew of to exist on Earth._

_Aliens, then?_

_But they weren't alone._

_Just beyond Barry, closer to the center of the circle. There was a third one. One who was just as fast as Uncle Barry, keeping pace with his mentor. And therefore faster than him. He couldn't make the figure out, had no clue who they were._

_Maybe it was Jay._

_In any case, they were both making him look like a sloth in comparison. Wally grimaced and pushed harder._

…  _I'm not fast enough, he realized._

_No._

_No!_

_I can do better! Be faster!_

_He pushed himself even more, feeling that wall, that limitation that usually cropped up, placing a ceiling on his velocity. No matter how much he tried to overcome it, it was there. He couldn't even go one tenth of a mile-per-hour faster. This was it._

_It's no use._

_Wally felt the first bolt of lightning strike his body, throwing him off balance and causing him to lose a couple hundred miles-per-hour off his speed. His vision turned black and white._

_And again, the electricity surged through him, arcing through the air to target his body. He saw in shades of red and gold now._

_Inwardly, Wally rolled his eyes through the pain. Oh, sure, he couldn't get girls at the drop of a hat, but as an electromagnet? He was the most attractive thing this side of the planet, apparently._

_Another lightning strike. Another color scheme change, to blue and gray._

" _Kid?" He could feel Uncle Barry's voice. "Kid!"_

_Another strike, and all he saw was black._

…

_The next thing he knew, he was strapped down to a table. Why was he here? Why was he strapped down? He couldn't move, his head, neck, waist, arms and legs were shackled down against the metal examination table, and he instantly thought of all the books he'd read over the years, where the main character had undergone illegal human experimentation at the hands of evil scientists._

_Please make me a bat-winged, glow-in-the-dark monster. That would be epic. The first coherent thought to enter his brain._

_Slowly, Wally pried one heavy eyelid open, and he could make out faint figures. Nothing was clear - he needed his glasses. In the distant background, he could make out hazy shadows of his parents, and Aunt Iris. In his ear, the rapid beeping of an EKG machine buzzed in his ear like a gnat. Hopefully that wasn't his heartrate - it sounded much too fast for any normal human, according to what he'd read in anatomy books._

_Suddenly, he was aware of Uncle Barry standing over him, big hands holding down Wally's shaking shoulders, fingers running through Wally's hair. Worry in his eyes. And fear. An ongoing string of words running from his lips, mumbling, "It's okay, Kiddo. You're gonna be okay, alright? You're gonna be okay, you're getting help. It's okay, Kid. It's okay."_

_Wally could feel himself asking with shuddering breaths, "Did… did the… experiment… did it work?"_

_Barry's eyebrows slowly raised, and then lowered as he glowered at Wally. "The experiment? That's what you're worried about? You could have been killed, Kid!"_

_Wally shrunk back from his mentor's fury, his chest constricted, and his heart gave an uncomfortable leap underneath his sternum, causing him to gasp and yelp in pain. The rapid beeping of the machine evolved into a steady, ongoing wail, pulsing relentlessly in his eardrums and making his world spin._

_Out of the corner of his eye, as Uncle Barry was shouting for doctors and his dad and Aunt Iris were holding his crying mom, Wally caught the terrifying sight of his own EKG reading._

_He saw his own heart flat-lining._

_Wally saw visible proof that he was dying with his own two eyes._

_It was at this moment, Wally knew… he screwed up._

" _Kid!"_

_More blackness._

…

_The darkness dragged on endlessly, suffocating him in its entirety, covering his body, his eyes, mouth, and nose like a blanket. And the accompanying silence was unbearable._

_And then… he could hear it._

_The first noise in the pitch-black darkness._

_A low hum of a machine, the sound of clanging metal, a high-pitched hiss like when a kettle on a stove releases hot steam through its spout. If Wally didn't know any better, he'd think he was standing inside his own radiator or something. Except it wasn't warm._

_The cold from before had returned with a vengeance, making his fingertips and ears tingle. Shuddering, Wally took a step forward to see if he could spot a light switch._

_And abruptly smacked his nose into a wall. "Ack! Why?" He felt the wall with his hands, feeling nothing but sleek, cold, metal. Weird._

_He turned to the right, and instantly ran into the same problem. "Okay, so you're a corner."_

_Turned to the left, and bam! Another wall. "And… you're another corner. So. I must be in a closet or something, which means the door and/or hallways should be right… here!"_

_BAM!_

" _OW!" Wally stumbled back against the first wall, holding his slightly bleeding nose and starting to breathe hard as he grasped his position. After a pause, he threw his hand up to punch painfully against even more solid metal._

_Okay._

_Okay!_

_No problem._

_It was just a box. Just a box. A dark box._

_What's so bad about that?_

_And then came the sensation that the walls were closing in, and Wally rolled his eyes. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."_

_The walls were literally closing in. The surface area of the ground was shrinking as the walls were groaning and squishing together, like in the garbage compactor scene in Star Wars Episode IV._

_Easy, Wall-man. Easy. Think clearly. You just need to find something to prop the walls open, and maybe even a doorknob if you're lucky._

_He was not lucky._

_He was very unlucky._

_The walls didn't stop until he was physically pressed in from all four sides, his chest given a mere half-inch to inhale and exhale, which didn't help since he was on the verge of bad hyperventilation at the moment._

_Easy, Wall-man. Picture yourself somewhere else. Deep breaths. You know the drill. You can figure this out-_

_Wally suddenly stopped all motion - well as much motion as could be possible, squeezed up as he was - at the unexpected sound of music._

_Yeah. Yeah, that was definitely music._

_High-pitched, lilting tones, wafting through what must have been miniscule pores in this solid dark box._

_A flute._

_Which immediately brought up his memory of his brief encounter with the Pied Piper from weeks ago._

" _It's… it's you," he gasped, trying to pinpoint from which direction the music was coming from._

" _Yeah, it's me," came the telltale deep voice of the Pied Piper, sounding like it was coming from directly in front of Wally, maybe a hundred feet away. The voice echoed, giving Wally the impression that they were both in a large room, a chamber. It helped a smidgen with helping him come to grips about the fact that he was nearly crushed like a soda can._

_The voice chuckled a bit, making Wally's hair stand up on end. "You know, it's kinda funny. Funny how things get easier when you know who the Flash is. Where he Flash works. Where he lives... How to find him."_

_A spotlight suddenly came on, cutting through the pure darkness and piercing Wally's vulnerable eyes. The light revealed the green-hooded figure in its white glow._

_Long time no see._

_But the Pied Piper wasn't alone, Wally realized, taking in the scene right before his eyes. In one hand, the mysterious musician held a silver flute. And in the other, he held… a head. Gross._

_Wait._

_Oh… God…_

_It was..._

_It was Uncle Barry's head._

" _No. No… Nonononono!" Wally felt sick, and there wasn't even room to hurl. This went beyond horror, it was…_

_And the Pied Piper had the nerve to laugh._

_Wally had never before felt the urge to kill someone quite this much._

_Growling through gritted teeth, unable to drag his eyes away from the unnatural sight of his mentor's head in the Piper's hand, Wally slammed his fists against the wall of the box. He sank downward against the surface, almost to his knees, and let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream that seemed to shake the foundations of the earth._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 02:57 CST**

Wally sat up in his bed, still screaming himself hoarse. Uncle Barry zoomed into his bedroom in a millisecond, pajamas aflutter and hair standing on end. "Kid? You… you okay?"

Wally's vision wavered, and he turned to focus on the time. 3am on Christmas Day.  _Silent night,_ _holy night, my butt._

"Fine. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry." Wally rubbed his face with his hands and hugged his torso, feeling his heart nearly beat out of his chest. "Sorry to wake you. Let's just go back to sleep."

"You sure, Kid? If you want, we can talk about-"

"I said I'm fine. Going back to sleep."

"... Alright, Kid." The bedroom door clicked shut.

That had been more than just a dream. Wally never got nightmares, not like that. In his sixteen years, he only had those kind of night terrors when he was a kindergartner with an unhealthy hankering for spicy burritos as a midnight snack.

His leg had fallen asleep, and he winced as he rolled out of bed and stomped around with it, trying to get the feeling back in his limb.

It was this stupid inhibitor. Worked like a charm…  _not_. Sure, he didn't have his super-speed. When he stubbed his toe on a doorframe, it didn't go back to normal in a few seconds. It dragged on for, like,  _minutes._ His durability was down.

But his metabolism? Didn't stop. In fact, it might have gotten even faster.

He was eating like there was no tomorrow, trying to keep up on his calories… and failing. He was constantly hungry, constantly weak, and even lower in energy than he had been over the past weeks - and that was really saying something. Seriously. It had barely been a day and already he wished he'd never gotten the powers years ago, because...

If this was withdrawal?

If these never ending hunger pains and headaches and nightmares were going to become a regular thing?

He already couldn't take it any more. If only he could get this thing  _off_ , but… it really was seamless, much as he knew that was technically impossible, since they hadn't exactly molded it around his leg. But it was form fitting, and constricting, and uncomfortably heavy, and beeped every time he tried to stick a hand out the window or open the door to get the paper.

Snitch.

Now, Wally West was not much of a crier. He didn't see much use for it at all, and avoided it when at all possible. It was a waste of hydration, it made you look like a wimp, it left sticky spots on your face and made your eyes red (which on his freckled ginger complexion, didn't help his handsome good looks at all)... and it was acknowledgement that life wasn't one-hundred-percent awesome.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew life had been sucky lately. But crying was letting the  _world_  know that  _he_  knew that the  _world_  was being a jerk.

But now? Every time he tried to close his eyes, all he saw was the sight of the Pied Piper dredged up from the landfill of his subconscious, standing with undeserved swagger in the spotlight. And with Uncle Barry's lifeless head held in his hand.

He could feel tears pinpricking at the corners of his eyes, wetness welling up from a deep, inner place, overwhelming him until he couldn't help it. He buried his face in his pillow, hiding his pain from the view of the world.

Wally just couldn't get that image out of his head, and it twisted him up inside. It weighed on his chest when he lay in his bed, pressing down on him like the ceiling had fallen right on top of him. He couldn't breathe right when he tried to sleep.

He couldn't sleep.

So he didn't bother trying anymore.

 _Adapt_ , was Uncle Barry's oh-so-helpful advice for him.  _Adapt_. Bounce-back. Think outside the box. That was the Flash legacy. The way of the speedster.

Yet Wally was coming up with nothing. He felt empty, so empty. Cavernous in the heart, in the mind. If he deserved punishment, then fine, but not even losing his world and his purpose could remotely compare to the guilt he liberally used to punish himself. There was nothing.

He was nothing.

He had nothing left.

 _It's Christmas Day, and I've officially hit rock bottom_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. So, a bit of drama!
> 
> I just realized that was the first time I've ever written a dream/nightmare sequence in a story, and the first time I've written from Artemis's perspective, be it ever so little. Huh.
> 
> Cheer up, Wally. It's Christmas time! Weird how real life and the events of the story happen to be lining up more and more this month…
> 
> What are your thoughts on the chapter? Thoughts on the story? Likes/dislikes/loves/hates? I'd love to hear it all! Leave a review, if you're so inclined! :)
> 
> Best wishes,
> 
> ~Iron Woobie


	19. Advent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Thanks for the great response on that last chapter, readers! You have no idea how encouraging it is to still get support and feedback when I can only post once every several months… Know that your loyalty is always treasured and appreciated. :)
> 
> And now, what's this? Two chapters in less than a month? Gasp! I was actually hoping to get this out before Christmas, but ran into some roadblocks, ran out of time, wanted to do more work on it, etc. Still, the ideas are flowing this holiday season, and you guys are so motivating, so here we are! This one's a real whopper, so hopefully that should make up for the delay. :D
> 
> And, as always, I also post on FanFiction.net under the username "Iron Woobie", if you like to read and follow stories there, too. I upload to that site first, and then here at AO3 a few hours later, just FYI. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and happy holidays everyone!
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Iron Woobie

_It's all Wally can manage to keep going. The inhibitor is taking its toll, and his forced quality time with his parents… isn't exactly helping matters. Meanwhile, the Team is doing their best to figure out what's going on with the League behind the scenes - some of them more in the know than others. And for the Rogues, it's showtime._

_It's Christmas Day in Central City._

**19**

**ADVENT**

**CENTRAL CITY**  
**December 25, 07:02 CST**

The bells at St. Agnes rang their sweet chimes through Central City, awakening citizens to the dawn of Christmas and the joys of gift exchanges and tolerating relatives around pine trees and eggnog - that may or may not be spiked.

Wally rolled out of bed and said 'good morning' to his own, clingy holiday companion - the inhibitor, which had been beeping obnoxiously ever since he got fed up trying to shower around it the night before… and irrationally tried breaking it against the side of the tub, expertly cracking the ceramic, ticking off his Aunt Iris, and not even making the slightest dent on the inhibitor's surface.

_(Seriously though, what was this thing made of anyways?!)_

"Sorry," he'd said in response to Aunt Iris's scolding. He spoke quietly. Raising his voice required energy, and energy was something he was in very, _very_ short supply of lately.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Sorry.

He'd been saying that word a lot over the past couple of days, for all sorts of reasons, all accidental. For leaving the light on in the kitchen. For dropping breadcrumbs on the living room floor. For ripping a wreath off of the mantle while tripping over the inhibitor and falling oh-so-gracefully to the ground.

Of course, Wally was no stranger to falling and hurting himself. Artemis, Dick and Roy liked to call him 'Kid Klutz' whenever appropriate, and he'd never bothered correcting them. But… it was different now. Tripping threw off his balance more than it had before - his legs and abdominal muscles weren't nearly as strong and steady as they had been, his joints were sluggish to bend and flex, and his nerves… his reflexes… They made him feel like he was constantly moving in slow motion.

Really. Slow. Motion.

Which was weird, since lightning-speed thinking was no longer a thing thanks to the shackle on his ankle. But Wally had always been quick-witted, even if he hadn't always been light on his feet. Years of accelerated speed had compensated, but now he was once again experiencing that disconnect between his brain and his body. His neurons fired faster than ever, and he just couldn't keep up. It made him impatient with himself for simple motions like brushing his teeth and pulling his shirt on over his head.

It made him impatient in general.

The constant ringing in his ears was probably another indicator that things weren't all good with his equilibrium. It likely would have driven him insane, if Wally even had the presence of mind to care.

Because that was the underlying reality. He couldn't bring himself to care. Not anymore.

"Merry Christmas!" Iris cheered as Wally descended the staircase (one painstaking step at a time, which was an oddity in itself). Her hopeful grin faded to a straight line as she saw the subdued face of her nephew and the barely hidden discomfort in her husband. "Oh, come on, guys. Is it too much to ask for a smile, at least?"

Barry at least gave her a pathetic attempt. But Wally seemed to look right through her. "Merry Christmas, Aunt Iris," he said in a vacant monotone. "Your gifts are under the tree, green bow from yours truly. Heading over to my parents' house now, I'll see you later."

"Leaving already, Wally?"

"Sorry," he said again, automatically, emotionlessly, like a broken record. "Mom called. Dad wants me home."

"Well… okay then." Iris sighed as Wally shrugged on his coat and boots. She handed her nephew a present wrapped in red-and-gold paper. "Here you go. And you and your folks are more than welcome to come over tonight for dinner with us! Think it'll happen?"

Tugging his scarf around his neck, Wally turned to stare at her. No, not at _her_. Over her shoulder.

At Barry, who was busying himself with mixing pancakes in a frenzy, obviously avoiding meeting his nephew's eye. Wally noted the unspoken distance between them and returned his gaze to Iris - the normal vibrant, neon green in his eyes unexpectedly faded to a dark hazel, nearly brown. "You know… I doubt it. But have a nice Christmas, Aunt Iris."

In the next few seconds, he was gone.

Iris leaned against the couch in silent self-reflection for a long moment, before standing back up to her feet, striding with purpose to the kitchen, and punching her husband square in his shoulder.

"Ow! What? What is it?"

"What the heck is _wrong with you?!"_

Barry's eyes widened. "What are you talking about-"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me, Mr. Mensa," Iris snarled, standing on her tiptoes to get in Barry's face and jabbing him in the chest with her index finger. "You know what you're doing to Wally, right? You know that your silent treatment, your lack of acknowledgment… it's destroying the kid, Barry!"

"He's fine, Iris. He's a big boy - he can handle emotions other than blissful joy and righteous anger in the heat of battle."

"He's sixteen!"

"He's a superhero!" Barry threw his arms up indignantly. "At least, he _was_ until he decided to screw up and nearly blow the whole system."

"He looks up to you."

"Nope! He doesn't! He wants to go gallivanting off with a bunch of other kids, with powers he's _clearly_ not capable of handling responsibly, and completely disregard me as a resource and mentor."

"Don't be so melodramatic. Again, he's _sixteen._ He makes mistakes. Barry, you know how you were at that age-"

"At that age, I worked as a paperboy and attended high school as a normal kid. Not some… self-made Frankenstein with delusions of grandeur! He's completely different from any other kid on Earth."

"Then what the heck do you expect?" Iris put her hands on her hips, not breaking eye contact with her husband despite the anger in his eyes. "Push past the fact that you're pissed off he 'broke the rules' and _think about it._ Barry, Wally grew up idolizing you from Day One. I don't have to tell you the state the kid was in before you came speeding into his life. _Please_ tell me you're not a total imbecile and can see the influence you've had in him."

"It's… it-it-it's not…" Barry took a deep inhale, rubbing his cheeks and running his hands through his hair. "Iris, it's not that I don't see that. It's not that I'm mad he broke protocol. It's not even the fact that he didn't come to me for help. It's…" He struggled to find adequate words, before shaking his head and giving up. "It's me. It's the fact that I'm forced to put League interests over my own nephew's well-being. It's that… much as I want to, much as I feel the impulse to just… break him right out of that inhibitor and take him out for patrol with me… I have a responsibility to- I'm just not at liberty to intervene, and-and-and I just… _I can't fix this, Iris._ "

Iris knew that look in her husband's eyes. She'd seen it before, more times than was healthy.

Barry Allen was a man who wanted to fix the world's problems all by himself, no matter what measures he needed to take.

He'd run cross-country to pull a car out of the way of an incoming train. He'd evacuate a town in seconds before a bomb destroyed all signs of life. Barry had taken too many bullets for too many innocent civilians too many times, and Iris had been there through it all, covering the events with a camera and microphone, always concealing her own conflict of interest with Central City's resident savior.

Barry Allen, a man who solved everyone's problems, felt trapped. His hands were tied, because at much as it sucked for all who were involved, Wally's probation was in everyone's best interest. Especially Wally's. A harsher mentor would have said 'tough luck' and 'get over it', but Iris could tell Barry was tearing himself up about this without her piling on.

She knew what her husband wanted to hear. But she also knew what he needed to hear. And she knew he needed to be given something to _do._

Iris closed the distance between them and crossed her arms, looking up at the anguished blonde man before her. "Barry, I make a living out of reading other people. And that's why I can tell you, with utmost certainty, that Wally doesn't even care that much about the powers and the missions. Okay?"

She placed her hands on her husband's shoulders, grabbing his chin and whispering fiercely, "He respects you _so much_. And he's scared of disappointing you more than he is of losing all the heroics. He was willing to go to such lengths, all the way to hiding from the all-seeing-eye of Batman himself, for the sake of making sure _you_ didn't find out he messed up. And now that you have? And that his worst fears are realized, where you can't even _look_ at him properly, proving him right all along?" She raised her eyebrows, seeing that Barry's mind was whirring and jumping onto that momentum.

"Take the title away, take his friends away, even take away his speed, but he'd still have you, Barry. He'd still have your respect, your friendship. Your trust. But take that away too, and what's he got?" Iris closed her eyes and turned away, pulling out a cutting board to start dicing strawberries. "A lonely home with two parents who don't understand him nearly as well as you do, and a bleak future of civilian life as an under-appreciated genius with ADHD."

Barry said nothing, but didn't break his attention from Iris's gaze. Because she was right. (She always was, after all.)

"It's Christmas, Barry. Give him the gift he really needs. Do whatever you can to handle this." Iris set the cutting knife down on the counter and glanced at her husband, who had his eyes closed as he leaned against the refrigerator. "You're the only one who can."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 08:00 CST**

Hartley's eyes slowly pried open at the soft buzzing of his alarm clock beside his ear. He reached out and longingly traced the snooze button before turning the alarm off entirely and sitting up in bed. Each breath he inhaled was loud in his own ears, an audible _whoosh_ like wind against a cliff, or waves crashing against a shore. Hartley swallowed, his ears popping and his throat making the swelling sound all the way down into his chest and stomach.

Long, musician's fingers tentatively rubbed the linens of his bedding, reaching up to brush stray red strands of hair out of his eyes.

It was December 25th, a day he'd marked down on his calendar for reasons entirely apart from the holiday season. Hartley closed his eyes, relishing the feel of his butt in his own warm bed, knowing - _knowing all too well_ \- that this was the last time he'd get to enjoy the luxury of a soft bed for several days. At least.

"Merry Christmas, Master Hartley." A servant poked her head through the door with a small, hopeful smile. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Fine, Eleanor, thanks." Hartley gave her a smile in return. "Dad gave you and the others the day off, right?" _The cheapskate had a soul, at least. The house staff didn't have to work on Christmas Day. Just the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year._

"Yes, Master Hartley. I just wished to inform you, before I left that is… that you have a message. Delivered this morning. It is not addressed, though it was directed towards you as the recipient."

Hartley frowned. "Really? Let me see." He accepted the envelope from the servant and turned it over. As he opened it, he asked,"Someone hand-delivered it?"

"Yes, sir. Javier says it was a man wearing all white, who drove up in a car and left as quickly as he came."

"I… I understand," Hartley muttered faintly, eyes scanning the letter in the envelope.

_A to-do list._

_Cold was nothing if not direct._

After a minute, Eleanor cleared her throat. "Is everything all right, Master Hartley?"

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks El. You can go. Have a nice day with the family."

"Merry Christmas to you too, sir."

As the door shut behind her, Hartley methodically folded up the letter and jammed it in his backpack. The same one that, just weeks before, he'd used to carry binders of sheet music and English novels and his math notebook. And one that, now, held various weapons and custom-made gadgets, along with rations and hydration for what was going to be the longest, toughest job he'd pulled yet.

Hartley knew his parents wouldn't be anywhere in the house for the holiday break - vacationing in the Alps - so he had plenty of time to prep before heading out.

_Time to suit up._

He looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting the belts and buckles holding his Piper clothes around his body. His mouth quirking in thought, Hartley tugged on the green hood casting the shadow over his face, and fiddled with the flute attached to his waistband. He had his backpack on, though he knew that the weight on his shoulders had more to do with the pressure he was facing than with the physical baggage he carried.

Another inhale like crashing waves. Another swallow in his cavernous chest that seemed to lack a fully functioning heart. Another cold chill traveling up and down his spine.

_I can't afford to second guess this now._

Careful to step lightly and be meticulous with the doorknobs, Hartley ventured to the bedroom next door and lowered himself to kneel beside his sister's bed. "Jerrie," he whispered under his breath, in a tone so quiet a normal human wouldn't be able to hear it. But neither he nor his young sister were 'normal' by any stretch of the imagination. "Jerrie, wake up. It's Christmas."

The girl sniffled a bit in her slumber before blinking rapidly and bolting upright with a growing grin across her face. Her big blue eyes flew wide open, and she tossed her messy ginger bedhead as she bounced up and down in her bed.

Hartley laughed quietly, "Yeah, I'm excited too, Jer. Because this… _this_ is the year. This is a gift that's going to change- I mean... Geez, it's going to change _everything._ For you, for me, for this family… It's just…" A knot worked its way into Hartley's throat, and he found himself blinking rapidly against liquid emotion at the look in Jerrie's eyes, feeling that unending  _pressure_ of years of effort and failure and that other feeling he tried not to dwell too much on…

All of that was finally going to pay off.

The way Jerrie looked at him, sharing the knowledge that the events in the next few days, one way or another, were going to make a difference… it was all Hartley needed to reboot his motivation.

He hand Jerrie a bag of cookies in a pink Christmas stocking, and accepted a little blue gift bag with a plastic whistle in it with a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll be back, Jer. Love ya."

She waved as he left. Innocent. Calm. _Real._

_Let's get this show on the road._

Hartley made his exit through the balcony window and started sprinting down through the back roads towards the first check-in point.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 10:19 CST**

Artemis would be lying if she said she wasn't glad to get back on U.S. soil for the holidays. But maybe not for the reason most would think.

Despite the cloud of dread hanging over their heads, the "Daring Dangers" gave one last performance for Haly's Circus. As to reasons why, Artemis was coming up empty... but had a hunch it was something personal regarding Boy Wonder.

Thanks to the time difference, the Bioship was able to touch down at Mount Justice without missing too much of Christmas Day.

But Artemis was only in the Cave for maybe thirty seconds, enough time to snag her green uniform and refill on arrows, before she Zeta-tubed straight to a more important place to be.

No, it wasn't to Gotham for a nuclear family get together around the Christmas tree, what with her dad on the lam, her sister similarly off the grid, her mom visiting family in Vietnam, and the constant feuding amongst all the Crocks that generally discouraged such gatherings when at all possible.

Didn't matter.

Having no plans just gave Artemis free rein to do what she wanted, and what she wanted involved the situation of a certain teen speedster currently under lock and key. Which meant she was due for a trip to Central City, to visit the man responsible and try to slap some sense into him.

Figuratively speaking, of course. Artemis wasn't suicidal. She wouldn't actually slap the Flash, even if it were possible.

So, the funny thing about doing a "cold open" - you know, that suspenseful, impressive, and at times intimidating maneuver where you appear behind someone with a witty line and a dramatic entrance from the shadows at _precisely_ the right moment - is that it's  _insanely hard to pull off._ Especially when that 'someone' is a superhero. Especially when they're in the Justice League. And especially when they've been rumored to break the freaking _light barrier_ on foot when really, really motivated.

The fact that she was trying to pull a cold open on the Fastest Man Alive came with its own set of issues.

From finding out his last location, to trying to track his path, to realizing that it was pointless anyways because the guy could be anywhere in the city at the drop of a hat (and could therefore be assumed to be everywhere at once), to finally deciding to track some actual criminals and cross her fingers that the Flash would show up at the scene of the crime instead, to picking good stakeout locations that wouldn't get her reported to local law enforcement but still offered sufficient view of the surrounding area in case she caught sight of a random red blur racing by… Several hours passed by before she made any progress towards finding Wally's mentor.

_The things I do for you, Baywatch..._

Wait, actually no.

No, this wasn't for Wally. All this effort, this… _caring_ she had about the probation, it was all for the good of the Team. They just couldn't function at their best without their heavy hitter - who took out more baddies than even Superboy and covered their backs more than they knew. But beyond that… nah.

Artemis Lian Crock did _not_ get attached. Especially to dorky ginger oafs who got themselves caught and suspended.

… Nope.

"... And here we have another excellent example of why carjackers should never go for flashy sportscars, ladies and gents," a voice sighed, a gust of wind flying up from the street to blow Artemis's hair around her face.

 _Well, look who showed up to the party._ Artemis held back a smirk and peeked over the edge at the exchange on the curb below. The Flash leaned against the hood of a bright green Lamborghini in his red-and-gold standard, inside of which a sorry-looking crook sat with a couple of screwdrivers and wires in his hands. Caught in the act.

"I mean, really." The Flash drummed his fingers on the hood of the car appreciatively. "The chassis is nice, carbon fiber monocoque and all. Can hit max speeds of over two hundred miles an hour, sure, but you're limited to how well you can make use of the handling on city roads. Acceleration is zero to sixty in two point nine seconds, but… _buddy_. Look who you're dealing with." The Flash leaned on the hood, smiling at the car thief through the front windshield. "It's still not enough, and it sticks out like a fart in church."

The criminal grit his teeth, smacking his forehead angrily against the steering wheel. "So what?"

"So, all I'm saying is if you're going to go for a _Lambo_ , you've gotta to be smarter about it, man. I'm sure you're figuring out right about now that you're doing it wrong." The Flash suddenly materialized in the shotgun seat next to the car thief, elbowing him in the shoulder and pointing at the spot under the steering wheel. "Newsflash, rookie. New car models have transponder-based immobilizers, and steering wheels have been locking since '69. It's not like in the movies or in GTA. There are no magic wires you can fiddle with from the driver's seat to get the engine running."

"... Why are you telling me this?" the would-be-thief muttered. "I can use this whenever I get out of the can."

The Flash shrugged with a nod. "Yeah, true. I guess I'm just irritated. It's Christmas, and people like you are making me do rounds. I guess the least you could do is make the effort worthwhile."

"Why don't you just take me to jail, then? If I'm such a waste of your time-"

"I could, but again. It's Christmas." The Flash gave a small smile. "How old are you, kid? Twenty? Twenty-one?"

"Nineteen."

The Flash whistled. "Nineteen. Not much older than…"

"Kid Flash?"

"... Yeah. You out of school?"

"Got my GED two years ago."

"Not bad!"

"Yeah, saving up to go to the community college in the spring."

"That's good, that's good. What degree?"

"Communications. Marketing. Something like that."

"Nice!"

"Yeah." The young man shuffled a bit in his seat and rubbed his shoulder. "Um, you know, Flash… I didn't actually _steal_ this car. I wouldn't be able to if I tried, like you said, so… a-and because it's Christmas, do you think you could-"

"You're not getting off on a warning, kid. An officer's already on his way to bring you to the station."

The young man sighed and slouched in his seat. "Yeah. Was worth a shot."

The Flash reclined in the seat as well, exhaling. "You don't seem like a bad guy, buddy. Play your cards right and you might get out early for good behavior."

Artemis watched, amazed, as the Flash held such an exchange with a carjacker, shootin' the breeze and waving cordially as the would-be thief was loaded into the back of a police cruiser and driven away. _Only in Central City..._

She followed the Flash with no small amount of effort, finally catching up to him as he slowed down and stopped next to a little brown bag in front of an apartment complex. With… a little Flash logo drawn on it in Sharpie. And snickerdoodles inside. How... _cute_. This city liked to spoil its heroes.

The Flash sat down on the curb and gnawed on the cookies, appearing pretty sad. Artemis saw her chance and dropped down from the roof of the apartment complex beside him, sending the Flash sprawling away in surprise. "Merry Christmas, Big Red."

_Nailed it._

"Artemis! What are you doing here?"

"Following up on the news alert that's got the whole network's panties in a bunch." Inside, Artemis held her breath, unsure of what response she should expect from the older hero before her. She didn't know the Flash that well, but from what she saw from his interactions with Wally, she figured he was a reasonable guy.

The Flash sighed and stood to his feet, staring down at her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher behind the whites of his cowl. "I figured one of you would show up sooner or later. Let's take this somewhere private. You mind?" he asked, offering to pick her up. After a pause, Artemis nodded. Then her stomach jumped into her chest as Flash swept her off her feet and zoomed a good distance away.

Suddenly, they were in a forest.

"Oh… _kay_ ," Artemis exhaled, staggering away a few steps and whirling around, trying to get her bearings. "This is…"

"Granite Peak National Park. One of Kid's favorite places - out of the way, but you can see the whole city from this cliff." The Flash gestured to the side, and Artemis peered through the snowcapped trees to see that he was right, of course. Central City sprawled far and wide, and the sense of separation, yet connection, wasn't bad. "Figured it was good a place as any to get this over with. What do you want to know?"

Artemis turned to stare at the man that was the mentor of one of the most infuriating, stubborn, yet passionate and caring people she'd ever met. While the Flash's uniform didn't reveal nearly as much of his appearance as Wally's did, concealing all but his mouth under the sleek red standard, his body language was expressive. Decisive. Telling. The way his cowl flexed and curled from his eyes and eyebrows beneath told stories of what the older speedster was thinking, and possibly feeling. The man was an open book, much like his partner.

_The apple doesn't fall far from the tree._

Slowly, she crossed her arms and looked down at the ground, trying to figure out how to go about this. Because suddenly, she didn't want to tick off the man Wally admired most. She didn't want to cross a line, to enter territory she had no right to enter. "The probation…" she began, "It's… it's a lot."

"Yup." Flash was guarded, but not cold. Cautious, but curious.

"This is the longest the Team's been out of touch with him. Not even Robin can contact him."

"All his comms are on fully offline mode."

"Right…" Artemis squeezed her eyes shut, nodding to herself before taking a step forward. "Flash, what happened? Just… how did things get this bad? What happened that we're not allowed to know?"

"Artemis, you know that's confidential-"

"And yet here we are, miles away from anyone who'd know." She threw her hands out in exasperation. "You care about Wally just as much as I- as the _Team_ does, even _more_ than we do, so what gives? He's a social butterfly, and the League just pinned his wings to a corkboard. _Come on_."

Flash started pacing, rubbing his head with his hands in obvious frustration, just like Wally always did. "I'm not really sure what you want me to tell you. Do you want to know how long he's been exposed? How big of an exposure it is? Where he was when we got news, how much danger he's in as a result of being compromised, who in that city 'miles away' has it out for him _and_ knows too much? Specifics."

Artemis grit her teeth, seeing the internal conflict in Wally's mentor's tone. "That bad, huh? Flash, no matter how dicey it is out there in the world for him, don't you think the League's policy is… counterproductive? Isn't the point to maintain the best interest for the hero under scrutiny, no matter what it takes?

"Yes. But Wally's 'best interest' isn't necessarily what's most comfortable for him right now."

"There's a big difference between uncomfortable and _cruel_. You know him. How's he handling things? What's his status been like since the bomb dropped?"

Artemis didn't like the tensing in Flash's shoulders at that last question.

"Kid's been… he's been better. It's rough. It's definitely rough, especially for him. He's… not like you and the others on the Team, Artemis. Speedsters, we _need_ to run. The metabolism goes two ways, and blocking that's like clogging a faucet-"

"Wait, _blocking_? Blocking what?" Artemis got a chill down her spine as she suddenly understood. "You took his speed. You took his- _Is the League_ _freaking insane?!"_

The Flash's breathing escalated, and he grew agitated under the confrontation from a girl maybe two decades his junior. "Look, it's not like it sounds. Kid has an inhibitor, yes. But the speed's still there, it's just exactly that: inhibited. We're holding him off of patrols and missions indefinitely-"

"-Indefinitely meaning-"

"-Until we can fully, accurately gauge the scale of his exposure, minimize collateral impact, manage whatever… and whoever… needs to be managed, and ensure that the streets are safe for him again. The speed is one of the few factors in this disastrous equation we can control, to keep him out of trouble. Because, like it or not, Kid has an _uncanny_ knack for getting into trouble with his speed."

"He's not an idiot."

"I know he's not!" Flash shook his head, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Artemis, believe me when I tell you this… _nobody_ on this planet knows better than I do how big a genius Kid really is. He's so intelligent - and _knows_ he's intelligent - that he thinks he's the smartest person in the room, thinks that he can outwit any enemy through willpower and brainpower alone, and believes that rules are, quote-unquote, 'made for sheeple who don't know the difference between a bracelet and a handcuff'!"

They stared at each other, and Artemis raised an eyebrow.

_That does sound like him._

The Flash took a moment to get his vexation under control and slow down his speech. He finally shrugged a bit. "It's not… it's not _hard_ to imagine a situation where Kid gets too confident in his own abilities and decides to break protocol for the greater good. He goes out there, fights crime at the speed of sound, kicks butt and takes name, gets a picture of himself taken for the paper and his real name shouted in a crowd, and then that crap gets tweeted in the blink of an eye, and next thing we know, his ID's out there for the world. Putting the isolation procedures in place, setting up measures so he's not tempted to test the limits and act in ways that he's going to regret later… again, it's in his best interest."

After a long blink, Artemis raised her eyebrows in question. "And… you're okay with this?"

The Flash froze. Unmoving in a way that was unnerving for someone who knew speedsters were constantly in some amount of visible motion, just by the way their bodies worked. Just three words left the Scarlet Speedster's mouth, broken in a breathless whisper, "Of course not," and Artemis absently wondered what was going on behind the scenes between the closest League-Team partnership of them all.

"He's a sitting duck, you know?" She turned to look out at the city vista, the cold December draft blowing her blonde ponytail all over the place. "If enemies stormed his location-

"- We've got his location under surveillance and protection-"

"- _Be that as it may_ , he's got nothing to fight back with besides his own abilities in hand-to-hand, which have always been custom-tailored to suit his speed. His moves don't work the same with anyone else, which is why _I_ can't do the same stunts he can. What do you think's going to happen when he can't run up walls and.. do _bouncing somersaults_ in oh-point-three seconds?" Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Heck, _I_ could take him out with my eyes closed, the way he is now. Is completely crippling him really the best the League could come up with?"

The Flash looked at her, something in the slant of his shoulders suggesting that he was silently approving of her persistence. "Look, Artemis. It's nice that you're trying to advocate for him. Seriously. It's cute. But this is a League matter. I was the one who slapped that inhibitor on him, and I couldn't get it off now if I tried." He lowered his voice, shrugging and resuming his pacing, hiding whatever expression had flickered across his face.

His hand rubbed his head, but Artemis had sharp eyes. She saw the smooth motion of the Flash's hand as he switched off his comms. They were offline, completely off the grid right now. "And believe me. _I've tried_ ," he said, his vocal tone changing abruptly as he turned to face her square-on.

"You… you have?" Artemis's interest was piqued, and she demanded more. "What, is it sealed shut by magical, mystical bonds of Fate? Baywatch would hate that," she joked dryly.

"Less mystical. More a matter of the fact that the controlling system was designed and implemented by the _Dark Knight_. I'm good with tech, it's part of my day job description, but I'm not _that_ good. Few people are." Flash shook his head helplessly. "At least the inhibitor legitimately keeps him safe. It bioscans anyone in a certain radius and sends up red flags if there's a perceived threat in his vicinity."

Artemis mentally logged every word being spoken for future reference, realizing that the Flash was sharing confidential information with her for a reason. "So there's nothing we can do?"

"Nothing. Nothing that I, as a senior member of the Justice League of America, can endorse… officially. It's out of my hands."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. Again, in his tone of voice… more than bitterness, but less than despair… dissatisfaction? Wistfulness? Longing? Something else along those lines… "Are you hinting at something?"

The Flash deadpanned. "No, no... I'm doing nothing of the sort. That would be out of line, for a founding League member to… to imply any opportunities for… surreptitious actions in this matter. That would just be… _unacceptable_."

He cleared his throat loudly, ending that train of conversation, and swiped his finger against his comms again. They were back online. "In any case, what's important is that you and the Team stay safe. No one's out of the woods yet, and something big's brewing in this city. Tensions are high. Any second, this place could very easily turn into a warzone, and the last thing we need to worry about is some overzealous reporter getting their hands on information they shouldn't and compromising us in the midst of a crisis. Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah. We'll watch our step."

Without further ado, the Flash swept her up in his arms and zoomed her back to the street corner where they'd met up in the city. Artemis nodded, waving goodbye and drawing her bow, pointing it upwards to shoot a grappling arrow at the roof of an adjacent building, while the Flash continued on his patrol.

Yet her mind was whirring around those crucial words. She knew the Flash was giving her a clue, a starting point.

The system was designed by Batman. ' _I'm good with tech... but I'm not that good. Few people are.'_ That was what he'd said.

Few people are.

Artemis smirked to herself, effortlessly swinging between buildings from arrow to arrow towards the nearest Zeta terminal.

_I happen to know a guy. He actually is that good._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 11:35 CST**

A nondescript white semi truck drove into Central City, rolling across Weisman Bridge and smoothly blending in with the traffic. Aboard its top, a lithe figure dressed in dark, forest green clung to the metal surface with one hand, a flute in the other. Two men dressed in white winter gear were in the front seats of the vehicle. Their payload was massive and delicate. And most certainly illegal.

The Pied Piper kept a lookout for anything that looked suspicious, but it was nearly lunchtime on Christmas Day. No one was worried about service or delivery trucks when all they were concerned about was getting to their destinations for holiday festivities. Not one resident of Central City batted an eye.

The truck pulled up to its destination where more Men in White waited to unload its cargo, load up hand trolleys, and wheel them into the designated facility.

"It's nice weather today," Captain Cold commented, and Piper barely resisted jumping a foot in the air, startled by the sudden address from the ice villain. "Crystal-white, snowy and icy in all the right places. The wonders of winter… Shame we couldn't get Weather Wizard in on the action - but the man was always a chicken about getting his hands… dirty."

But that went for most of the Rogues, Hartley knew. From what James had told him, there was a reason why only four of the large network of villains were in on this plan. The rest of the Central City Rogues Gallery had chosen the other option offered to them by Cold: _clear out of town and stay out of the way, then come back for the spoils and victory when the time is right._

"Everything seems to be going according to _keikaku_ anyways," Hartley responded, checking the settings on the contents of one of the packages being loaded off the truck.

"What?" Cold asked, confusion on his face.

" _Keikaku_ … means plan. It's a meme, from anime... Uh, just forget it. But what's next, Cold? I know you sent me a tasklist - but surely my whole role isn't just piggy-backing a truck into the city and running soundcheck like a roadie."

"Indeed. Piper, you're going to be instrumental in triggering the chain-reaction. Which requires the _presence_ of a certain _someone_ who, rumor has it, is out of the action for the time being."

_Kid Flash._

Hartley had heard whispers here and there that the teen speedster hadn't been seen in a few days, that he wasn't on the streets, and… a part of him hoped it wasn't true. But a part of him did. He tried not to think about it too much, the thought that if Wally wasn't patrolling the streets as they'd predicted, he might not suffer the plans Cold had in store for him. And the pros and cons as a result...

Hartley shook those thoughts out of his head, his cape flapping in the slight breeze. "There's nothing I can do about _that_ though, not right now. I can't track down the guy while he's off the grid, so what else is there for me to do? Time is money, Cold."

"... Get the clown and start prepping the failsafe," Cold finally said.

_Oh, joy. Trickster._

"On it," Hartley muttered, an edge in his voice, and started to run the streets he knew by heart.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 12:56 CST**

Barry stood before the window of a hardware store in full Flash regalia, reminding himself that he's been in this business for a good ten years. In a city like this, few things should surprise him at this point, let alone a random " _psst_ " from a reflective surface and the grimly-sneering face of one of his nemeses beckoning him for a conversation. Barry had been waiting for this exchange, after all. It was getting to be an annual tradition.

_Mirror Master._

"Scudder. Happy Chanukah."

"Season's greetings, Flash."

"To what do I owe the honor of this… window-chat?" Barry was well aware that the people inside the hardware store were probably giving him weird looks for talking to his own reflection.

"I had coffee with the Riddler a few weeks ago. You know the guy?" Mirror Master raised a cowled eyebrow.

"I'm... familiar with his work." Flash crossed his arms at the abrupt start to the conversation, the gears in his head turning at what to do with this weird, unexpected encounter with one of the few people on his List. (It was not a good list to be on.)

"He gave me some interesting insights. Nothing spices up a heist, a holdup, or a scheme of any kind like a good riddle to get things rolling. I've decided to give you the pleasure, Flash, of my first composition."

"I'm honored."

Captain Cold never approved much of 'bantering with the enemy', but once Barry's villains realized 'Baby Flash' liked to play insults-and-entendres, the Flashes and Rogues began a treasured tradition of trading entertaining barbs of wit. Barry liked the odd bout of repartee himself, and Scudder was more than happy to humor him.

"As you should be. I haven't done poetry since my junior high days, so you're in for a real treat." Mirror Master's smirk shrank and he seemed to look for a piece of paper on his person. "Ah, here we go. _Three speedsters of a legacy long, seek to right all our wrongs, but an old man, a prick, and a baby Flash will find that they have met their match…_ And, uh... _soon they'll find their city under attack, and the outlook will look pretty black. Or… white, as it were, from the color of the season, and all of Cold's powers and reasons. Snowmen will seize the people with strength, and all will hear a song of length, then the speed of the threesome will not be enough to halt the upcoming city-wide assault…_ And _that's_ all I got so far. Thoughts?"

Barry winced, shaking his head. "Hate to say it, Scudder, but that was pretty bad. Awful, actually. The rhythm and meter didn't jive, the main point really wasn't driven home, and a lot of those lines were pseudo-rhymes at best. You should spend some time on revisions." 

_Plus, it doesn't help that there's only two speedsters in this city at the moment, one if you count the fact that Jay's retired._

"Yeah, it's a work in progress, I'll admit. Still rusty. I may take some poetry classes one of these days. Anyways." Mirror Master looked at Flash with what looked like fondness in his eyes. "Tell you what, Flash, old buddy, old pal. You and I, we go way back. I was your first villain, right? You were the first guy to outsmart me. So I'll do you a solid. If you got a girl, got folks, got kids in the city, go ahead and send them away. Give 'em a holiday vacation to Maui or something. Just get them out of the city limits. That's what I did, anyways."

Barry narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the window. "What? Why are you telling me this? What are you planning?"

"You know how we operate, man. It's the end of the year. Don't we always pull some Doomsday Device or Plan of Domination this time of year?"

"Six years running. And the Rogues are oh-for-six, last I checked. What makes 2010 any different?"

"Because we're playing for keeps this time, Flash. We're done beating around the bush. Time to cut to the chase and go out with a bang. It's go big or go home."

"That's… a lot of idioms and clichés."

"Typical me, eh? Like you said, I'm not too good with words." Mirror Master shrugged. "Point is, you won't see what we've got coming until it's probably too late, and then you're going to have to make some choices. In the off-chance you make the _wrong_ choice, I'd hate to have your loved ones caught up in the crossfire."

Barry grit his teeth, frustrated that he was having this conversation like he did every year with Mirror Master. The guy liked to talk big, but Barry and Wally had no trouble in the past with getting a handle on the baddies' plans before things escalated. "Then I'll just have the city evacuate."

"It's _Christmas_ , Flash... Do you really think you can get all three-point-five million people and their relatives out of the city in forty-eight hours, with airlines and highways as clogged as they already are? And what about those who can't afford transportation out of Central City? You ready to risk the lives of the hobos and street urchins? What about those folks in the ICUs and ERs who aren't stable enough for transport to other hospitals? Are you prepared to write them off as 'unavoidable casualties'?"

Feeling the hairs raise up along his neck, Barry had nothing to say in response, and Mirror Master looked at him with mock-sadness in the curl of his smile. "I thought not."

Barry pressed his red-gloved hand against the glass, leaning closer to the image of his enemy in the window. "You don't have to do this, Scudder. You're a Rogue, but you're a Rogue of _Central City_ , and you have influence and sway in the network. You can stop this before things get too hairy."

Mirror Master looked at him before pulling off his orange goggles and rubbing his eyes. "Flash, my boy, you really don't get it. I'm not just along for the ride, riding Cold's coattails like James and Boomerang. I helped _make_ this plan. I made most of the fine-detail designs. I owe you nothing, and I couldn't care less what you think. For once, the way you seem to see the 'good' in everybody… that's gonna bite you where the sun don't shine. And I look forward to it, because after a decade of being in and out of prisons nationwide due to your handiwork, I'm going to see an end to it, one way or the other."

"Then why reach out to me now? Why are you talking to me, giving me warnings like this?"

With a small, dark chuckle, Scudder's voice dropped to a fierce whisper, "Because I want to be able to look you in the eyes, right here, right now, and see your face when I tell you this: In the next few days, _someone_ is going to die. Whether it's you, or the old geezer, or the kid, or the civilians… _someone_ is going to take a permanent dirt nap. That's unavoidable, that's certain, and there's nothing you - the _Flash_ , the _Scarlet Speedster_ , the world's fastest problem-solver and savior of mankind - can do about it." The criminal paused, and then cocked his head. "What do you think about that?"

"I think…" Barry closed his eyes and turned away from the window.

"I think you guys need to reevaluate. You need to throw aside whatever conceptions you've got about me and what I'm willing and _capable_ of doing." Barry returned his glare to the window, and in his reflection he could the whites of his cowl practically glow with rage. "Because I'm done with playing according to your rules. If the Rogues are going to start killing people, threatening the lives of the people I care about, holding _my city_ as hostage... you bet your sorry a**es that I'm going to stop holding back, and the only ones at risk of _dying_ around here are going to be you. When it comes to my people… I don't play."

"You wouldn't kill us," Mirror Master scoffed, looking a bit skittish. "The Justice League doesn't kill."

"Neither do the Rogues. And yet, _here we are_. What does that say about our respective groups, Scudder?" Barry's voice was icy, stern. "If you test me, you'll be surprised, and not in a good way. Don't cross a line, and you might be able to see your family for New Years behind bars. Otherwise… you're going to have a bad time."

Mirror Master looked at Barry with wariness before returning his goggles to his face. "That's pretty dark, Flash. Scary, but… it suits you, in a weird way. Godspeed, buddy." The image vanished from the window, and Barry took a few moments to regain his composure, not blinking as people inside the shop snapped candid photos of him through the glass.

The Rogues were planning some sort of city-wide hostage situation. If that was the scale they were looking at, then he needed to figure some things out and plan things out with the League accordingly.

But of one thing, Barry was certain. Wally could _not_ enter this fight. For the first time that week, Barry was glad the inhibitor was on his nephew's leg, and that it was veritably impossible to remove it. Taking his nephew out of the equation meant that push wouldn't come to shove, and he wouldn't be forced to take actions he regretted.

Because if the Rogues risked the lives of his family, Barry wasn't sure that he _wouldn't_ make good on his promises. His threats.

It would be a dark day when the Flash ended a life.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 14:27 CST**

There was a simple, certain calm in a public park in winter, when the snow was cascading down from on high and the presence of other living beings was limited to the lonely, the lovers, or the animals. It was little wonder that the main park of the city had a stark lack of people enjoying its sprawling hills and delicate trees, and the snow on the ground was pristine and flawless as a result. Few footprints could be seen.

It was this solitude that was the sole reason Wally was allowed to get out of his house and get some air,'Agent Snapper' in tow, of course. The first few hours with his mom and dad on Christmas had… not done much good for Wally's stress levels.

You could cut the tension in that household with a knife.

It was this park that Snapper escorted him to in particular which had some sentimental meaning for Wally. He'd made his debut as Kid Flash here, all those years ago, jumping up on a big boulder in his squeaky-clean, mint condition yellow uniform. He'd placed his hands on his hips triumphantly and announced his existence and his new role as loud as his thirteen-year-old self could possibly manage. ' _I'm Kid Flash, and I look forward to protecting this city and all you people in it with the Flash. I promise, I'll do whatever it takes to make this city a better, and safer place!'_

Wally could still remember the surprised applause from the random passersby who'd been wandering the park that day. How different things were, now that he was no different from the average civilian, unable to keep up with that promise anymore... thanks to his own mistakes.

"Thinking hard about something?" Snapper asked, a few feet away. The agent was always within arm's reach, eyeballing anyone and everyone who came too close to the pair as they walked through the city from the West house to the park.

"Just memories," Wally said quietly, continuing his walk. It had been a long time since he'd decided to take a normal-paced walk, just to organize his thoughts. Why walk when you can run, right? Walking, though, allowed him to focus all of his concentration on his thoughts at all times, versus the split attention that always happened when he ran - navigating and reacting to split-second obstacles in his path. Before, he could run to sidestep all that introspection that inevitably happened in those long, empty hours of solitude in between minutes as a speedster. He could think hard now. Remember well.

Because _more_ thinking was exactly what Wally needed to do right now, right?

"You know you can talk about it if you want. I'm a resource for you as well as a 'bodyguard', Wally."

Wally grimaced, hiding his face from the man trailing him close behind. "Thanks for the offer, Snaps, but… I just don't think we're on that level." _It's not that I hate you, per se, just what you stand for. I hate that you're here, watching me, keeping me accountable to a probation I loathe._

"Understood."

Wally raised an eyebrow. "No hard feelings?"

"Nah." Snapper gave a shrug with a smirk. "I don't blame you. Walking around an empty park with a babysitter twice your age isn't exactly how anyone would want to spend their Christmas afternoon."

Well, at least he got it.

Readjusting the hood on his ski jacket that shielded his hair from the snowflakes, Wally exhaled and watched in fascination as his breath left his mouth like a smoky fog, the moisture condensing from vapor to liquid in mid-air. It was, again, the little things like this, the fact he could pay attention to the way his breath looked simply because his mind wasn't oriented towards the next time he could break off into a sprint.

His new priorities forced him to slow down and smell the roses, so to speak.

"Hey! Wally!"

The sound of familiar voices in an unexpected context broke Wally out of his sappy poetical reflections, and he turned to gape at the two boneheads running across the snowy park towards him and Snapper. Snapper, of course, was instantly on guard, drawing a gun from wherever he'd had it stashed on his person and aiming it before relaxing. They both recognized these losers.

Dick and Roy.

Dick. And. Roy.

_Dick and Roy._

What a sight for sore eyes.

Wally sagged in relief that he hadn't realized he'd been waiting for, jogging towards his two best friends in the world. The three of them bounded towards each other, winter coats and scarves billowing around them in slow-motion. It was almost as if you could hear "Chariots of Fire" playing in the background.

The would-be joyful reunion was cut short when Wally's ankle erupted in a series of high-pitched, nerve-fraying sirens.

He could feel the metal heat up against his ankle, the sensation similar to if he'd been pressing his leg against a hot stove. "Stop, stop!" he called out, wincing as the fact he was within range of two 'unauthorized' beings encouraged the inhibitor to go nuts. "What's wrong?" he yelled at Snapper, who caught up to his side and pressed a button somewhere on his person that turned off the sirens.

"They're not given clearance. I'm going to need you both to take about ten steps back," the agent called out, stepping in between Wally and his bros. Dick looked deep in thought, his eyes staring only at Wally's ankle, while Roy just looked pissed.

"The hell we will!" the older ginger snapped, taking even more steps forward that set the sirens off again. "You can't keep Wally chained up like a dog! Who the hell _are_ you anyway-"

"Guys, easy," Wally put his hands up placatingly, mind whirring as he tried to figure out what to do. "This is Agent Snapper, he's in charge of supervising me while I'm under… probation. Snaps," he turned to the agent who was eyeballing Roy with a warning look in his eye and his hand in his pocket. "These two are fine, and you know it. Isn't there anything we can do to… I don't know… make it so they don't get my foot fried off?"

"Much as I hate to say it, Wally, having them this close within range is _not_ fine." Snapper pushed Wally firmly backwards with one hand, not taking his eyes off the other two teens in the park. "This distance here is okay, but any closer and the alarm in the inhibitor is going to trigger a sizable League response. Which is something that none of us want."

"Oh, come on!" Dick called from where he stood, maybe a hundred or a fifty feet away. "We're his best friends! There should be an exception for clearance-"

"There are no exceptions," Snapper cut him off. "Exceptions turn into loopholes. Loopholes turn into breaches of protocol. Breaches of protocol turn into endangerment and exposure, which is what we're all trying to avoid here. And even if I wanted going to be bad at my job - which I _don'_ _t_ \- I don't have authorization to give you clearance anyways."

As has already been established, Roy Harper was cranky on the best of days, and flat-out hostile on the worst - and it seemed today was one of the latter. He was practically growling when he shouted, "Let's see how much you can _avoid_ me shoving that stick farther up your-"

"Hey, guys! Guys, it's okay. Let's not push it, I'm just glad to see you. And we can talk too. This works, right?" he asked the agent, gesturing hopefully to the extensive distance between him and Dick and Roy.

Snapper looked at him nonplussed, before finally taking a few steps back with a hesitant smile. "It's an empty park. I swept it beforehand, no other signs of life, no bugs or other recording devices. Long as you guys don't get too specific or say anything confidential… I didn't see anything." He turned and started pacing a bit aways, though not far enough away that he was out of sight or earshot.

Wally exhaled. "Thanks, man." _Maybe you're not so bad after all._ He turned his attention to his Teammates with a big grin. "So. Happy Yuletide!"

"Is it?" Dick raised his eyebrows above his shades and crossed his arms. "You didn't look so happy before you saw us. What's going on, dude?"

"Not much, not much. Everything's going pretty well, no complaints. No problems." Wally's smile widened bigger to the point that it was almost painful.

"Really? I'm not convinced one bit, Walls." Roy's eyes narrowed and he started pacing irritatedly along the invisible line he and Dick couldn't cross. "Come on. Stop dancing around the topic."

Wally cocked his head in thought before shoving his hands in his pockets with a shrug. "Nah, I've got nothing to share. But, like, if I feel like I want to spill my guts, no sweat." His smile disappeared as he enunciated with cold clarity, _"You'll be the first ones I call. Promise."_

Dick's mouth opened slowly, and then he let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Ah, yeah, I see what you did there. I told you the same thing on the beach. But… th-this is different, Walls."

"Is it? Is it really?" Wally's eyes widened and he took a sarcastic inhale, throwing his hands out to his sides. "Well then! I'd be better go ahead and let you guys know everything about my personal crisis, just to get it off my chest. Because that's me, right? An open book for all to read-"

"We get it. You're mad at us." Dick interrupted. He looked pretty pale.

"No, I'm mad at Barry right now for putting _this_ on me." Wally kicked the inhibitor with emphasis. "I'm mad at my Latin teacher for losing my ten-page essay, which means I've got to rewrite it before the new year. I'm mad at Kraft-Nabisco for discontinuing Chicken Whizzies. And I'm mad at myself for getting put on probation, for sure…" His smile returned, small and bitter. "But I'm not 'mad' at you guys. Just… _disappointed_."

"Geez, Wally, what do you want us to say?" Dick was practically toeing the invisible line in the snow. "What can we do to get past this?"

"I don't know, _an apology would be a decent start!_ " Wally ran his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he glared at them. "Or are you even sorry you left me behind?"

"I'm sorry that things got this complicated for you. Honest. But do I regret it?" Dick was quiet as he hugged himself, not dragging his gaze away from Wally, watching his reactions. "If you… if you'd gotten your probation while the Team was abroad, Bat- my _mentor_ would have swooped in and blown our cover. Blown the mission. I just… couldn't afford to risk that. It was too important. So you didn't get the call to the briefing."

"Fine. So you didn't bother to invite me. _Fine_." Wally pinched the bridge of his nose before gesturing with his hand, "But how did you know I wouldn't just Zeta over there to find you anyways after our little phone chat? Or, forget the Zeta, what if I just _ran?_ I've done crazier things before, and it wouldn't have been the first time I ran the Atlantic to track someone down. If I was so _detrimental_ to your mission, a walking time bomb waiting to blow all your Cirque du Soleil plans to heck, then, I mean… There would have been no way to make sure I didn't..."

Wally trailed off as a terrible, _terrible_ thought entered his brain and he closed his eyes, sitting himself down in the snow, welcoming the freezing wetness around his legs and especially his sore foot.

"No. No, no you _didn't. You guys didn't..._ "

"Told you he'd figure it out," Roy whispered to Dick furiously before sitting down in the snow too. He spoke plainly, matter-of-frankly, carefully devoid of any emotion. Just facts. "We sent the tip to the League. Anonymous ping, no way to trace it back to us. Timed it to show up on You-Know-Who's servers when we figured you'd be looking for us. And it worked."

Wally ran his hands over his face with a groan. "Un- _freaking_ -believable. You were the two people on the planet I thought I could trust with my issues and _not_ have it get to the League. And what happens? You sell me out to cover your butts so you could save Dick's home in privacy."

Dick was the only one left standing, his face turning even paler as he rubbed the back of his head, fingers running through his hair anxiously. "It was necessary, and Roy's right. It worked. We took care of the mission, things were handled, and now we're back. It was foolproof."

"Yeah, and _I'm the fool."_ Wally jumped back up to his feet, kicking angrily at the snow and sending up little clouds of white flurries around him.

"No, it's not like that. This was just the best thing we could come up with-"

"Really living up to your name there, _Dick."_

Dick's jaw dropped and he put his hands on his hips. "Wow. Low blow."

Wally shook his head, his hair tossing irritatedly around his head. "I don't know if it's possible to go any lower than you two did! I mean, you two are the reason why all the fit hit the shan!"

"We _know_ , you're the golden boy who always does the right thing. Too trusting for your own good. You wouldn't have done the same thing - you'd have made better choices and kept us in the loop, and so on." Roy looked down and rubbed his neck in impatience. "You gonna keep giving us crap, or are you gonna tell us how you're doing? Artemis told us they've taken your speed."

With a sigh, Wally shrugged, fiddling with the tassels on his scarf. "No Internet, no working phone lines, no suits, no gadgets, no patrols, no speed. No _friends_ … Yet the hunger's, like, _doubled_ , and even I didn't think that was possible. Have to eat five meals a day, usually at Uncle Barry's house because they have more food. My legs hurt - the muscles shrunk to where I've dropped a whole pants size - and I get headaches, nausea when I try to move too fast."

Wally ticked off his fingers as he spoke, nodding to himself. "And, uh, my back feels pretty sore these days. You know, from the _knife_ still in it."

Face contorted with anger and sadness, Wally stared across the distance between him and Dick and Roy, yet it felt like there was a bigger distance than the one now. It had been growing for a while now, even before that Friday faculty meeting in November. Sure, the three of them had good moments this past semester where things seemed fine, but…

All Wally wanted for Christmas, really, was to be on good terms with his best friends again. Not 'okay' terms, but _perfect_ terms. He wanted a fresh start, from square one. Actually, that went for several areas of his life. His secret identity. His relationship with Uncle Barry. His image as a taboo for his teachers. All of it.

But because they lived in a universe where time travel was impossible (so far), Wally was left to pick up the pieces.

Because that's what he always did. He ran around and swept up the pieces, putting them together in record time. He was the healer, the guy who laughed things off, the guy constantly in denial and _okay_ with that. The fastest kid alive at 'getting over it'.

The thing was, Wally wasn't sure he had enough energy left to laugh this off. Denial only went so far.

"You guys have a good winter break. Kick evil's butt and tell me all about it... next time you decide you want to tell me anything, that is." Wally tightened his scarf and started walking back to Snapper, who was sitting on a park bench trying to school a neutral expression on his face. "Snaps, we're going."

"Wally, don't just leave it at that! Come on!" Roy took slow steps to follow, trying to maintain the mandated distance from the inhibitor while still keeping as close as he could to Wally. "Let's talk about it-"

"Let him go, Roy," Dick whispered, holding back the taller redhead by the back of his hood. "He's not going to listen to anything we have to say right now."

They watched in silence as Wally and his 'babysitter' left the park, then turned to look at each other.

"That could have gone better," Dick sighed.

"Understatement. You think he's ever gonna let it go?"

"He's a Flash, speed aside. Whether he likes it or not, Wally can't hold a grudge for more than two seconds. We just need to give him some time... The biggest problem right now is that stupid inhibitor. If I could have gotten closer to it, my computer could have picked up the signal and I could study it later." Dick rubbed his chin and pulled back the sleeve on his jacket to reveal the gauntlet. "Let's meet up with Artemis. She might have figured something out when she met up with Barry-"

"Isn't this like trying to fix a bullet hole with a bandaid? Wally's pain… kinda goes a bit deeper than his probation, don't you think?" Roy said, rubbing his gloved hands together to get warm as the furrow between his brow grew in concern.

"It's one and the same. He associates you and me with everything wrong in his life - and for the most part, he _should_. We screwed up. I… _I_ screwed up." Dick exhaled, starting to walk to the nearest Zeta terminal with Roy close behind. "If I went back and did it over, maybe putting him in this position wouldn't have been the choice I made. But now it's _our_ turn to fix things. Fixing his speed and getting him back in the swing of things is the first step."

Looking up at Roy from above the shades of his sunglasses, Dick shrugged, a strange blend of melancholy and determination tinging his words. "If nothing else, we owe him that."

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 15:46 CST**

"You ever heard of the Serenity Prayer, Kid?" Uncle Barry said quietly as he and Wally drank hot cocoa by the fire, going through files for Barry's dayjob. _CSI: Miami_ was playing in the background. They sometimes did this whenever they both needed to let off some steam in a constructive way, and when fishing was impossible with the lake frozen over. It was calming for both speedsters after a tough day, or in the case of Barry Allen and Wally West, a tough-as-nuts week.

And it was guaranteed to help them make up when they'd been fighting.

Barry was pleased to see his nephew's shoulders relax a bit with a cup of his favorite drink, some stress-free conversation, a good heart-to-heart to talk through their complicated feelings towards each other, a good ol' Barry-Wally hug, and then some mind-numbing paperwork to divert Wally's focus away from recent events.

Wally didn't look up from the spreadsheet he was poring over and marking with a red pen. "Uh, if it's a prayer, chances are I probably learned it in Sunday school in the past, but… I could use a refresher."

Barry chuckled, ruffling his nephew's hair across the coffee table. "It's a saying people can tell themselves when life gets overwhelming. A mantra of sorts. 'Give me the peace of mind to accept the things I can't change, the courage to change the things I can-'"

"'And the wisdom to know the difference,'" Wally finished, and set down his pen with a look of thoughtfulness on his face. "That's… that's deep, Uncle Barry. And… I see the relevance."

"Really?" Barry gave a soft smile and sat back on his heels, taking a sip of cocoa.

"Yeah. I've been… doing a lot of thinking, and... and I realize that the only reason why this probation sucks more than a Twilight vampire, why I feel like crap, is because I'm still… like… clinging to a lot of false hope. If I let go of what I _want…_ it'll make it easier to accept the things I _need_." Wally spun the pen on the table top, looking at the fire. "I can be more productive with my time and energy if I just move on. Focus on other things. Like Mirror Master's stupid riddles."

Grinning, Barry nodded. "I don't want to discourage you from _all_ hope, Wally, but… you're onto something there. Even if you're not running next to me side-by-side, you're still helpful as my… civilian advisor."

"Fancy name for 'grunt monkey'."

" _Nephew._ You're always my nephew, Kid. That won't change."

"Yeah." Wally looked at him with a touch of warmth in his eyes that Barry hadn't seen in a few days.

"So... this is okay? Solving crime with me behind closed doors, figuring out puzzles, analyzing villains' schemes? At least half the fun of being Flash and Kid Flash?"

"It's more than okay, Uncle Barry."

They toasted with their hot chocolate mugs and continued working on the paperwork.

And Barry dared to think to himself that things really would turn out all right.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 17:21 CST**

Hartley slipped in the back window of the CCPD jail center in broad daylight and stuck to the shadows, locating Trickster in seconds. True, police departments were designed to keep criminals from _leaving_ rather than _entering_ , but still. Hartley was breaking into Central City's premiere holding facility for crime, next to Iron Heights, so often that it was becoming second nature.

If he ever went straight, his first order of business would be reforming the security at the police station.

Checking to make sure his hood was on right and slipping between the sight fields of the pivoting security cameras, he made his way to the cell of his clown colleague, frowning when he realized James had a cellmate. They were both taking a midday nap, looks like. Pulling a device from his belt that would look like a simple kazoo to anyone else, he aimed it at the head of the unsuspecting criminal on the top bunk and blew at a high enough pitch that not even the police dogs could hear. In two seconds, the guy was out like a light.

Hartley pulled another device from his backpack with one hand and held it up against the electronic lock on James's cell, checking over his shoulder as the device gave a quiet buzz in his hand and the door swung up. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

"James."

The clown was snoring. Hartley readjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders and repeated once more, _"James."_ Then he just decided to shove the clown off his bunk onto the floor. They didn't have time for gentle tact and tactility.

"Mmph, what? Oh! Pipey! Hi there! Long time no see! What are ya doin' in-"

Hartley clamped his hand over Trickster's mouth, looking at him incredulously. " _Shut up!_ Geez, man, do you want to get caught?!"

"Well, I've already been caught. Twice. You're the one who might get caught, though-"

"You know what, why don't you just…" Hartley closed his eyes and took a breath, reminding himself that James was harmless. _Harmless_. The guy was annoying, sure, but naive and helpful despite all odds. A bit of a child among the Rogues. And Hartley was the Pied Piper. Calm and collected. A cultured musician. Nothing could phase him."Cold sent me to pick you up. Do they have any of your things in the evidence locker?"

"My acid gun, but I've got spares at my apartment. For now, I can get by just fine with my own two hands. See?" Trickster held out his sizable, calloused palms, rough from a past life of working trapezes and juggling fire under the big top.

"Good. Then we don't have to enter the station to get anything. This is gonna go nice and quiet, all right?"

"Did Captain Boom-Boom and Double-M ask about me?" James asked hopefully as Hartley wrestled him to his feet. "I left them both Christmas presents before I left-"

"-You mean before you defected."

"Aw, I knew you'd come back for me eventually! But that popcorn place was having a sale, and Cold wouldn't let me go." James whispered with a pout.

"...Whatever, man. But no. You're not 'Captain Boom-Boom and Double-M's' favorite person right now." Hartley elbowed him in the shoulder with a small smile to himself as he reopened the lock on the jail cell and peered around the corner, up and down the hall. "But that's okay. You'll stick with me until Cold gives you your orders."

"Bye-bye Grindle! Merry Christmas," James whispered to his unconscious cellmate. "But I don't take orders from nobody no more, Pipes. I'm independent."

"You're independently stupid. And poor," Hartley pointed out, trying to figure out how to get the slightly bulkier, less flexible physique of the Trickster through the window at the right angle without getting stuck. They had to make it before the security cameras caught them in their line of sight at the next pass. "I don't like being Cold's pawn either. But today's the day we start putting the plans into action, and this time a few days from now, we're going to have a brighter future in this city once things are taken care of. And if you have to take a few orders along the way to get the job done, then you will. Just like I do. Okay, man?" Hartley turned to face Trickster, watching the clown's eyes blink before he nodded.

"... Okay."

"Now, alley-oop!"

Two minutes later, they were sprinting down a back alley towards a waiting car with two of Captain Cold's 'snowmen', as James had so eloquently dubbed weeks ago. They held the door open, and the two criminals dived in, James squealing in giddy glee when he saw that Cold had arranged for a pizza to be left for him. "He does care!"

The car started driving them to whatever location Cold wanted. Meanwhile, Hartley looked out the window as the city passed by. He knew this happy-go-lucky metropolis was getting a facelift pretty soon, and things might look a lot different the next time he roamed these streets. There wasn't a citizen here who didn't love Central City, and Hartley Rathaway, like all the Rogues, was no exception.

But loving something didn't mean there weren't times when desperate measures had to be taken. Hartley was never a fan of putting any civilians in harm's way, which is why this plan had to work. It would work. Screw whatever Cold said about 'failsafes' and 'Plan Bs', forget whatever Mirror Master said about unavoidable casualties. The best plan, the safest plan, the plan where _everyone_ made it out alive, would work.

_Hartley would guarantee it._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 17:51 CST**

Christmas dinner was superficially no different than from past years. Wally, his mom, and his dad sat around a table piled high with holiday favorites in mass quantities. The NBA Christmas games were playing on the TV in the background. The tree cast half the house in its red, green, and gold glow. It was a small house, just right for three people who didn't tend to spend a lot of time in it together.

His dad sat at the head of the table, his mother to his dad's right, and Wally at the foot. His mother looked at him with a small smile on her face, but the harsh lines in her forehead suggested she less-than-completely happy.

And Wally's dad… _Yeesh_.

The man always had his newspaper at the table, and not even Christmas was an exception. _Especially_ not today. With just the three of them, no Jay and Joan Garrick, not Aunt Iris or Uncle Barry, meals were always a little bit tense. Wally was used to it. He actually sometimes enjoyed it, enjoyed being the one at the table who could lighten up the mood with a well-crafted joke or an unexpected turn of phrase. Smiles on Rudolph West's face were few and far between, so Wally felt proud whenever he could inspire one for his dad, and he knew his mom appreciated it.

But today, Mary West was the only one smiling at the table. She grabbed the hands of the two men in her life and squeezed them. "Wally? Do you want to say grace?"

Family traditions. Wally never had the heart to tell his mom that his faith in divine power was about as devout as his belief in magic.

That is to say, he had none.

After a pause and a proud moment where he didn't flinch at the look his dad gave him, Wally nodded anyways. "Sure. Um… Yo. _God._ Uh, thanks for the food, and, like, giving us life and all. And there haven't been too many bad snowstorms, so that's nice. And we're all here… together… _happy?_ " Wally peeked an eye open and his father was staring lasers at him, giving a curt shake of his head. "H-healthy. We're all here, together and healthy. Um, thanks for the… the year, and for dad's promotion, and for my finals getting done and all… and for that awesome game between LeBron and Kobe… yeah. I think that's it. Um, peace on earth, good will to men, happy birthday to the J-man, John 3:16 and stuff. Amen."

"Very thoughtful, Wally," his mother said quietly, holding back a laugh, and Wally couldn't help a small smile in return. "Rudy, why don't you carve the turkey while I dish out the stuffing?"

Wally could feel beads of sweat rolling down his back at the way his father didn't take his eyes off him as he stabbed and cut the turkey with the carving knife. He was never as comfortable with talking to his dad on a good day as he was with his mom - maybe it was the fact that Wally had a really rough first year of having his powers, and his dad wasn't exactly known for his patience. Maybe they had incompatible zodiac signs or something like that - though Wally put as much stock in those as he did in magic. And God. And G. Gordon Godfrey's crap opinions on the world.

"So, Wally," his dad finally said once everyone's plates were filled. "What have you been up to today?"

"Not much. Stopped back at Uncle Barry's house to talk, smoothed things over. Went for a walk with Snaps in the park. It was okay."

"Meet anyone interesting?"

"Just Dick and Roy for a few moments." Wally's grip on his fork tightened.

"That must have been nice to see your friends, Wally," his mother said diplomatically, eating some cranberry sauce.

Wally grimaced and shrugged. "Uh, kinda. Found some things out that… W-we're not in the... best place right now."

"That's an understatement," his father grumbled. "Any word from your uncle about when this probation can get lifted?"

"Um. No." Wally turned his attention to his rolls, stuffing his face to avoid talking.

"It's a real inconvenience, those superhero protocols. Family phone lines have to get cut. I can't check my email while I'm at home - have to drive to the office or the library to make calls. Shame, since it's Christmas at all."

_Inhale. Exhale._

Wally knew what his dad was trying to do: guilt-trip him so hard he fell on his face and bowed down to the man. Gritting his teeth, Wally forced a smile - which he'd already done too many times today - and shook his head. "Things'll get better, dad. You'll see. I mean, probations can't last forever."

"I believe the word your uncle used was… 'indefinite'. Lasting for an unknown or unstated length of time."

"You don't have to quote the dictionary at me, dad." _Like you always do._ "I'm just.. optimistic. Or, I'm trying to be. I could use a little support with that," Wally tried, testing the boundaries that always existed between him and his father. "At least I'm home more now, so… we could have some father-son bonding time?"

"Because we're the afterthought, right? You'll only spend time with the people who raised you when you have to, and otherwise, we're a burden to be around."

"Rudy-" Mary tried to intervene, but Wally's dad was steamrolling. Wally found his heart rate picking up, and the inhibitor made a small buzz of warning against his calf. _Inhale. Exhale._

"We both work to clothe you when you burn through clothes. Feed you as best we can when you burn through calories. We give you toys and games and a free pass to live part-time with your aunt and uncle because we're under the impression it's in your best interest. We give you a _tremendous_ amount of freedom and supplies, and you have the _gall_ to ask for more?" Rudy growled.

Wally's fist crumbled the roll in his grasp and he dropped the mottled piece of dough on his plate. "I'm not asking for _stuff_ , dad. I'm asking you to be around when I need you, like _now_ , not... just wave goodbye whenever we manage to cross paths in the morning. I'm grateful for the equipment and the freedom, don't get me wrong, but I'm a speedster through-and-through. What I value more than anything else is _time_ with people _,_ and that's something that you don't 'have the gall' to offer!"

Rudy was riled up. _"Was that backtalk?"_

"Wallace Rudolph West, you apologize to your father right now!" his mother snapped, pointing at him with her fork.

_Inhale... Exhale..._

Wally swallowed, feeling his heartbeat pounding at this point, and those deep-seated urges to vibrate were forcibly restrained.

_Inhibitor's heating up._

_You need to watch it. You're saying things you don't mean. This isn't you. You know how this family works - don't make waves, don't speak up, don't talk back. Follow the rules. Stay in line._

"Sorry, dad. Sorry. That was... uncalled for and ungrateful."

"Darn right it was." Rudy West wiped his mustache with his napkin and threw it on the table. "If you want to take that sass mouth of your out in the world to give villains a tongue-lashing, be my guest. I've never stopped you. But as long as you're in _my_ house, you're to follow _my_ rules and respect me and your mother. I do not tolerate your issues with authority like your lackadaisical, limp noodle of an uncle does-"

" _Don't_ talk about Uncle Barry like that," Wally found himself blurting out. "Look, I hate to sound like the typical emo, moody teen son, but… Mom. Dad. I've said it before and I'll say it again. You don't understand me. You can't understand what my life is like, what I do, _why_ I do what I do. It's nice whenever you try, but you just don't get it. Uncle Barry gets it. Aunt Iris gets it. The League and the Team, they get it. But you two can't."

"Is that _our_ fault, that you decided to play junior lightning-rod and land your twelve-year-old self in the ICU?" Wally's dad barked, standing to his feet.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Screw it all._

All of Wally's escalating agitation, physical and emotional repression over the last few days - no, the last several _weeks_ - bound up in a braid of tension like a fuse.

A spark lit.

He exploded.

Jumping to his feet as well, Wally shot back, "No, it's not your fault, it's never your fault. It's _mine_! It's always mine. Seriously, it is. It's my fault for getting these powers, my fault for pushing Uncle Barry to take me on as a sidekick, my fault for screwing up and getting hurt all the time and getting CPS to investigate the family, my fault for taking on too many missions abroad with the Team and forgetting to call home. It's my fault for not being careful enough in school and getting exposed, and my fault for the probation. I know! It's _all my fault,_ and- _**nngh!**_ _"_

Against all odds, Wally's powers propelled outwards from his shackled body. They met the resistance of the inhibitor, and for a split-second, they surpassed its strength.

He felt the terrible and incredible flood of speed in his system, for just a moment, but it was enough.

Unfortunately, it was enough.

His hands involuntarily vibrated against the table, making all the food and silverware jump a few inches in the air, and Wally earned himself a full-body electric shock in retaliation from the anklet, causing him to involuntarily twitch and fall backwards against the dining room wall with a resounding _thud_.

His vision blurred, then returned to normal, and Wally saw the expressions on his parents' faces. Their matching expressions of surprise, and fury, and… fear _._

And that was always it.

That was always the root cause of why things in the West family were never the same after that one day, three and a half years ago, why the relationships in that house were strained even when things were good, and why blowups like this happened whenever they had the 'tough conversations'. Wally had never put his finger on it before, but he saw it now, clear as day, in his dad's hazel eyes and in his mom's bright greens.

His parents were afraid of him. Afraid of what he was capable of. Of the damage he had the potential to cause.

_It all makes sense, now._

There was silence.

The drinks in the glasses sloshed, nearly spilling over the edge. Just like Wally's grip on his composure.

"Wallace-"

"May I be excused?" Wally said, terse, breathless and probably red in the face. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left the table, trying to hold back the nausea and the tears from the way the inhibitor was shooting literal sparks of electricity up and down his leg.

_Inhale. Exhale._

_Inhale. Exhale._

_What's wrong with you?! How could you possibly have screwed up even more?_ Wally jogged up the stairs to the bathroom as fast as he dared and locked the door behind him, bracing himself over the sink as he fought to get his respiratory and heart rate under control. Sweat dripped off his hair and forehead. He drank water from the sink to swallow past the painful knot in his throat. After some hesitation, Wally pulled up the leg of his pants to see that the skin around the inhibitor was red. He must have caused it to overheat.

Electrical burn. Excellent.

 _Serves me right._ He sat down on the edge of the tub and buried his head in his hands.

_Inhale. Exhale._

"Sweet Marie Curie, I'm a hothead," Wally whispered angrily to himself. "Throwing a temper tantrum at Christmas dinner - what am I, _six?_ "

Never mind the revelation he just had about the people who birthed and raised him. He'd just… put that aside for now. He had ninety-nine problems, and fixing the fear barrier between him and his parents… was one that could wait for another day when Wally wasn't constantly on the verge of yet _another_ breakdown.

After splashing some water on his face and running cool water over his ankle, Wally left the bathroom, walked down the hall, opened the door to his bedroom and turned on a lamp. He started putting away his presents that he'd unwrapped that morning. Some were cool, yet common, choices of gifts for any average sixteen-year-old boy. New games like _Call of Duty: Black_ _Ops_ and _Halo: Reach_ , iTunes gift cards, and so on.

Other gifts were more practical, painful, inadvertent remnants of a formerly _non_ -average sixteen-year-old boy who moonlighted as a speedster: several new pairs of winter socks and Under Armour, since he sometimes tore holes through a pair of clothes a week, even more so when he ran missions, boxes of lightspeed energy bars (now with Kid Flash wrapping and your daily dose of Vitamin C!), and a new mini canteen that was small enough to fit in his gauntlet cupboard - which might have held water or broth in the past.

A final gift, more precious than any of the above put together, really hit Wally hard, and he'd closed his eyes tightly when he opened the present that morning.

A pair of Epi-Pens. He got them for Christmas every year to replenish his annual emergency supply. Normally, the pre-packaged needles were used for people with severe food allergies to open their airways and temporarily manage anaphylactic shock, allowing people to survive until they made it to a hospital for further treatment. Wally had seen classmates stab themselves in the leg with them in the lunchroom in the past. They were lifesaving devices for anyone who needed them.

But in Wally's case, these little shot devices had come in handy in dire moments where he was low on adrenaline and in need of an instant, though temporary, boost - a shot of pure epinephrine to his system had saved _his_ life on more than one occasion, too. Epi-Pens were last-resorts, but important to have.

For lack of better words, they were _liquid speed_.

At least, they used to be. These priceless, effective tools were useless to him now. Still, out of habit, Wally stored them with his energy bars in his nightstand with a certain reverence and care he otherwise reserved for babies and puppies. The pens couldn't come in handy for him anyways, but...

_You never know._

* * *

**CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 20:00 CST**

Around the city, a series of military-issued walkie talkies on the same frequency began to crackle. The deep, clear, smooth-as-ice voice over the radio spoke commands, and in unison, dozens upon dozens of men cloaked in white snowsuits worked in the shadows.

They mounted equipment and devices on buildings and fire escapes around the city.

Sensors, reflectors, and laser grids were aligned with carefully calculated angles - and primed to register movement at the speed of sound and beyond.

Control stations were arranged and hidden in scaffolding and balconies, in places local law enforcement would least expect it.

Tubes were lined through the city's sewage system, winding through underground tunnels and the subway systems, poking up through drainage pipes and water lines.

Hundreds of men drove into Central City through four different highway entrances, in an inconspicuous blend of cars, trucks, semis, and motorcycles.

Tents were set up in parks, masqueraded to look like any family camping outing. Large-scale weapons were assembled and aimed to pre-planned targets.

The forces, composed of mercenaries, former black ops soldiers, and well-armed men with a grudge, moved like clockwork.

* * *

 **CENTRAL CITY  
** **December 25, 20:16 CST**

After playing a bit with some of his new video games downstairs, and having a long conversation with his parents that ended with no small amount of uncertainty on both sides, Wally said "goodnight" to his folks and went upstairs to his room. It had actually been over a week since he'd been in his house, since he'd been spending so much time at the Allen house. His room seemed strangely foreign.

After a blink, Wally punched his bedroom wall, remembering much too late that he wasn't wearing his combat gloves and didn't have superhuman durability anymore. His knuckles got bloody much faster than he'd anticipated. And they hurt more than he'd planned. Life was just full of surprises.

_Smart as ever, Wall-man. You just keep showing off that genius intellect, don't you?_

By habit, he tried futilely to get onto the Internet - no Wi-Fi - and then checked his disconnected cell phone before he finally crawled into bed and just lay there in silence under his sheets. It was probably best to end this _joyous_ Christmas now by sleeping off the rest of the evening and night.

But the inhibitor around his leg generated so much heat that he started sweating under the covers.

In a fit of rage, Wally threw the covers off, taking out his anger on the shackle on his leg, beating it with flimsy human fists, biting at it with pathetic human teeth, kicking at it with his other slow-as-molasses human foot, and then just glaring at it.

As expected, none of it accomplished anything. "Just a lame, plain-old-human," he muttered to himself, flopping back on his pillow with a groan. "This sucks in so many ways."

"Being a plain-old-human doesn't make you lame, you know."

Out of the corner of Wally's eye, Dick Grayson sat perched on his window sill, with a small, hesitant smile on his face. He held up a small controller that was connected to his gauntlet, which looked out of place when juxtaposed with his civvie attire. His thumb was suppressing a button, and Wally looked down to see that the lights on his inhibitor were showing an unusual combination of colors, yet the device wasn't wailing sirens like it did earlier. Dick cackled softly at the look of awe, surprise, and inexplicable _hope_ on Wally's face, his laugh as contagious as ever. "I happen to be one, after all."

"Dick? Is that... in your hand, is that what I think it is?"

"Yep! An override, and a plan. And... an _apology_."

 _"Dude."_ Wally started to smile, found something deep inside beginning to lift, but he still clenched his teeth and raised an eyebrow. "You're still not getting off easy for snitching, though."

"I know, _I know_. But... hopefully, it's a start." Dick's gaze was attentive, open, and just a bit more... trusting _._ "Merry Freakin' Christmas, Wally."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Whoo! Finally got that finished. 15,000 words, geez, won't be doing that again… :P
> 
> Merry Belated Christmas folks! And if you decide to leave a review, I'd love to hear about what your holiday's been like! Visiting family/friends? Traveling anywhere new or exciting? Getting some quality work done (as I am, when I'm not writing fanfic lol)? Have a favorite song of the season you've been listening to non-stop? I'd love to hear it all! :D
> 
> I may not update again until after the New Year, so with that… Happy 2016 everybody!
> 
> Ho-Ho-Ho,
> 
> Iron Woobie


End file.
